The Night of Death's Ride
by California gal
Summary: Artie finds himself in the tragic situation of having to plan Jim's funeral... but then a familiar figure appears.


**THE NIGHT OF DEATH'S RIDE**

Death rides on every passing breeze,

He lurks in every flower.

— _At a Funeral, No. 1_, Reginald Heber (1783-1826),

Church of England Bishop and hymn writer

Artemus Gordon stepped out into the passageway, closing the door to his compartment, then lifted his arms above his head in a broad stretch as he yawned, finally bringing his hands down to his waist as he flexed his back. _Slept amazingly well, considering the racket that's going on!_ Outside the Wanderer, the wind was still howling while rain clattered against the metal roof and sides, as well as the windows. This had been going on since late yesterday afternoon, at which time the train had pulled over to a siding to connect the wires and check the conditions ahead.

Those conditions had not been good. The reports they received indicated that a landslide had partially blocked tracks that wended through the southern Wyoming hills. Clearing the way would have to wait until the storm moved on, and at that time no one knew when that would be. The crew then banked the fires in the engine and they and the two agents all had settled in for a long wait, enjoying a spirited poker game well into the evening before turning in.

Straightening, Artemus continued along the narrow walkway. He was wondering whether Jim was awake yet when he heard a sound just as he reached the closed door of his partner's stateroom. _Was that a groan?_ Artie halted. The sound came again, followed by a distinct gasp. A gasp of pain!

Artemus rapped on the door. "Jim? Jim, are you all right?"

When the only response was a repeat of a cry that was definitely one of agony, Artemus grabbed the latch and pushed it open. The only light emanated through a couple of small windows, gray on this stormy morning. But the illumination was enough to show him an astounding and appalling scene: his partner was writhing in pain, his face contorted and bathed with perspiration. The coverings were mostly on the floor, and Jim's upper body also gleamed with moisture.

As Artie froze, staring, Jim's hands went to his head, and another groan of anguish escaped his lips as his back arched against the obvious pain he was experiencing. The sound brought Artemus back to life and he stepped into the room, grabbing his partner's arm, experiencing new horror. "My god, Jim! You're burning up!" Jim's skin seemed furnace-hot!

The voice somehow penetrated through Jim's anguish and his eyes opened a slit. "Artie… Artie… Loveless… stop Loveless…" The voice was weak, hoarse.

He wanted to do so many things at once: comfort Jim, run to get help, bring cool water… Artemus finally leaned down to put his hands on Jim's shoulders, trying to calm him, speaking quietly. "Jim, it's all right. I'll be right back. It's all right…"

For a moment, Jim stilled, glazed eyes half opened. "Artie… Loveless… won't let him… can't let… take me…"

"It's all right," Artie soothed again. The delirium was to be expected with such a high temperature. "I'll be back. Just rest."

As much as he hated to, Artemus left the compartment, this time turning back towards the rear of the car and crossing over to the next, where the horses were stabled and which contained the crew's quarters as well as Artie's lab. Just as he entered, Orrin Cobb emerged from the bunkroom, followed by the fireman, Kelly. They were both yawning and stretching.

"Something wrong, boss?" Orrin asked, seeing Artemus's obviously distressed state. "Didn't mean to sleep so late…"

"No, no. That's okay. Jim's ill, Orrin, very ill. Any idea where the nearest town is?"

The engineer knew better than to ask too many questions, though curious about the sudden illness. "I expect Crocker, maybe twenty, twenty-five miles east. But the weather…"

"I know. But I've got to get a doctor. Get some cold water and cloths. Stay with Jim and try to cool his fever. I'll be back as soon as I can."

W*W*W*W*W

Almost five hours later, weary and beside himself with worry, Artemus Gordon leapt off his horse at the porch of the varnish car, racing up the steps, paying no mind to the man who was laboriously climbing out of the buggy that stopped alongside the train. As he pushed open the door to the varnish car, he nearly collided with Orrin Cobb, who was on his way out.

"What happened?" Artie demanded. The expression on the engineer's face was clearly readable.

Cobb shook his head in obvious distress. "He's gone."

Artemus Gordon's heart lurched. "He died? Jim?"

"No, no! Sorry, didn't mean that. He left. He got himself out of bed, dressed and saddled the black, rode off."

Artie vaguely was aware of the sounds of the doctor climbing the steps behind him. "He couldn't do that!"

"He did! It's crazy, Mr. Gordon. I fell asleep… "

"You what?"

"We all did. I was sitting in Mr. West's room, doing like you said, putting cold cloths on him, making him drink some water too. We took turns doing that. Seemed to be helping some… then he'd get bad again. Anyway, all of a sudden I opened my eyes and he wasn't there. Didn't even remember falling asleep. I went out, found Kelly and Johnson dozing also. And the horse was gone, door standing wide open."

"Where's the sick man?" the doctor demanded behind Artemus.

Artie turned, thoroughly distraught. "Doctor, it seems that in his feverish delirium, Mr. West escaped… left." He dug in his pocket, came up with some bills. "I'm sorry to have wasted your time." Pushing the cash into the doctor's hand, he nearly shoved the man out the door.

"Any idea about which way he went?" he asked the engineer when the door was closed again.

Cobb shook his head. "It was still pouring at that time. I went out and looked around, but there's nothing. No tracks. Rain washed anything away."

Artemus raked fingers of both hands through his thick hair. "My god, he could be laying out there… he was in no condition to ride! How did he saddle up by himself?" The engineer simply shook his head again, quite aware that his employer did not expect a reasonable answer. Artemus took a deep breath.

"Orrin, please take my horse to the car and water and grain her. I'm going to change clothes, grab a bite to eat…" _If I can get anything down…_ "Then I'll go out searching. I didn't pass him on the way back so he apparently didn't go that way. The landscape is pretty flat in that direction. I think I would have seen another rider. At least if he stayed anywhere near the road we traveled on." Again his fingers combed through his hair, as he tried to think rationally. "I'd better send a couple of telegrams too. Might need some help."

W*W*W*W*W

Luck was with him to some extent. First of all, the sun came out. The rain had halted during the journey back to the Wanderer with the doctor from Crocker. That older man had insisted he could not sit a horse and had to travel in his buggy, which slowed them considerably on the return to the train. Artie knew he had been completely rude to the physician. _I'll call on him, or write to him, as soon as this is over._

_Over._ He did not really want to think of the consequences of that word as he rode along the muddy roadways. However, unexpected good fortune came his way in the form of two travelers who had seen the wild-looking man on the black horse. The first was a cowboy who said he tried to hail the rider, thinking he didn't look "right."

"He was kinda swaying in the saddle, looked almost like he was going to fall off any old time. I yelled, and he just kicked that black horse into a gallop. No way I was going to catch him."

The second traveler was a redheaded woman in a buggy who stated she was on her way to her home after being stranded at a friend's during the storm. She too had seen a young man unsteady in the saddle. "I couldn't tell if he was injured or what. He rode right by me, didn't even look when I called out and asked if he needed help."

Artemus knew he was at least going the right direction. Both informants had described Jim West and also told him a town named River Bend was situated another ten or twelve miles along if he stayed on this road. Chances were the man they had seen would stay to the road as well. Despite the surface was soft and sometimes slick, Artemus kept the chestnut at a brisk pace.

During the long ride he started to consider the events of the morning. While on the trek to Crocker, the only thing on his mind had been Jim's illness and finding a doctor to treat him. Now he kept thinking about the fact that the crew had all fallen asleep. Why? That made no sense. They were good men who always carried out their duties, and did what was asked of them and often more.

Was it possible that sleepiness was an early symptom of the illness that struck Jim? Artemus cast that idea aside immediately. Jim had been very alert and obviously feeling fine last night, winning hand after hand in his usual manner. Even Frank Harper, a consummate poker expert, barely held his own against Jim when they occasionally got together. Secret Service agents were not allowed to gamble in public places—unless it somehow fit into their assignment, as often happened for Frank—so they usually played cards in private settings. Rarely were the stakes high. The pleasure was in the winning, not the amount won.

So it made no sense to think that the drowsiness had anything to do with the illness, which apparently attacked Jim during the night. The dampness of his bedding indicated to Artemus that Jim had been feverish for a couple of hours. _And in pain._ Artie remembered how Jim had described the knife-like headaches he had suffered after Loveless doped him with some concoction that also gave him hallucinations. Was that why Jim was babbling about Loveless this morning? Had the agony he was experiencing awakened memories of that incident?

He reached River Bend late in the afternoon, and the first thing he saw was the black horse, head down, tied in front of a building labeled as "sheriff's office and jail." Artemus jumped from his own horse, barely tied the reins over the rack alongside the black, and raced inside. A middle-aged man wearing a badge turned from a cabinet where he was replacing a rifle; cleaning rags were on a nearby desk.

"Where's the owner of that horse?" Artie demanded.

"We took him to the doctor's house. He's a sick young man. You know him?"

Artemus took a deep breath, experiencing some relief, yet still tense. "He's my partner. He's all right?"

"He was still alive, that's all I can say. Rode into town on that fine horse, barely hanging onto the saddle. In fact, the horse stopped out there in the middle of the street, and the young fellow just fell off into the mud. I'm waiting for a boy from the livery stable to take care of the horse…"

"Where's the doctor's house?"

"Last house at the far end of town. White one, with brown shutters. You…"

Artemus heard no more, racing back outside. He patted Blackjack on the neck and promised to come back for him, but jumped into his own saddle to head in the direction the sheriff had indicated. The house was easily found and once more Artie flew off the horse and up onto the home's porch, pounding on the door.

Within a minute, the door was opened by a slender man in his forties, his face adorned with mustache and goatee, head completely bald. He was in his shirtsleeves. "Yes? Can I help you?"

Artie prevented himself from shoving the man aside. "Doctor, a man was brought to you awhile ago. He's my friend. My partner. Where is he?"

The physician stepped back slightly. "He's in the back room. But…"

Artie did not wait, slipping by the doctor and heading toward the closed door the physician had waved toward. Pushing open that door, he halted short, his mind refusing to accept what he was seeing.

A hand touched his shoulder. "I'm sorry. He died about an hour ago."

A form lay on an examining table; a form covered by a sheet, head to toe.

"No," Artemus Gordon whispered. "No." He felt his knees start to buckle, and he grabbed for the doorframe. "It's… it's someone else."

"Possibly," the doctor said gently, taking Artie's arm now. "Why don't you sit down out here awhile…"

"No." Artie jerked his arm away, willing strength into his legs. _It's not Jim. It's someone else. All I have to do is pull back that sheet, prove it, and then go out hunting for him again. It's not Jim._ _It can't be…_

Every iota of willpower he owned was required to move his legs toward that table. Reaching it, Artemus stood still a long, long moment then forced himself to touch the cool white sheet near where the head would be. He slowly pulled it back.

"Oh, no! God, no!" The words came out as a sob when he saw the still face… the much loved and well-known face. Handsome even in death, with a coating of whiskers, his dark hair still damp. Tears began to streak down Artemus Gordon's face, but he ignored them, willing his mind to think rationally. _We've been fooled too many times._

"Pardon me, doctor," he said in a strained but level tone. "My name is Artemus Gordon. This… this is James West. We are agents of the United States government. I need…" He swallowed hard. "I need to make certain of the identification."

As he reached to unbutton the mud-streaked blue shirt, Artie realized his hands were trembling. No amount of willpower could stop them from shaking, so he just did the best he could, fumbling with the buttons until he got several opened. Then he pulled the fabric aside, and a new sob escaped his throat as he saw the scars… scars from all the years of battle against Rebs and criminals. The one on his upper arm from the time in the Mexican desert chasing the stolen horse… another caused by a wound inflicted by the corrupt sheriff who led the Viper gang… the barely visible small white scar from the time Skull's puppet snapped some flesh away with the tip of a bullwhip… almost overlapped by an equally small residue of the day of Prince's "buffalo hunt"…

Artemus heaved a deep, wrenching sigh as he carefully buttoned the shirt, never taking his gaze from the still face. Even while feeling the cool, lifeless skin under his fingers, he attempted to will life back into that face. _Open your eyes, James. Please open your eyes. I want to see that teasing glint in their green depths. Please don't leave me like this! What am I going to do?_

"I've very sorry," the doctor said quietly alongside him. "I did all I could, but it was just too late. His fever was very high… too high. His body simply… well, burned out. I have no idea how he even stayed in the saddle long enough to reach town. Have you any idea how far he rode?"

Artie shook his head slightly. "I guess… maybe ten, fifteen miles. I don't know." He was unsure even how far he himself had ridden. "Doctor, I…" He realized he could not think clearly, to know what to do next.

The doctor tugged on his arm, guided him back into the other room. Artie wanted to protest. He did not want to leave Jim alone. But he also knew he needed to sit down, so he sank into a chair. The doctor left a moment and came back with a glass of ruby liquid. Artemus accepted it gratefully, took several swallows of the flavorful wine.

"Mr. Gordon, I can see that the young man meant a great deal to you and this is a great shock. Would you like me to make… arrangements?"

"Arrangements?" At first Artie could not grasp the meaning of the word.

"The funeral," the doctor said quietly. "We don't have a funeral parlor, but we do have a gentleman who makes fine caskets, and a minister. The cemetery is…"

Artemus was shaking his head vehemently. "No, no. I have to—I have to take him… home… to the train. To Washington, DC." _Oh God, I have to tell them._ He put the glass aside and got to his feet. "Is there a telegraph office in town?" He had not seen anything on his ride from the sheriff's office to this house.

"Yes, it's across the street from the bank." The physician put a gentle hand on Artie's shoulder. "Go send your messages, Mr. Gordon. Perhaps you should think about getting something to eat as well, and some rest. You look exhausted. I'll take care of things here."

W*W*W*W*W

Grief, first take on shape! what is shapeless causes fear and torment but when the enemy materializes, half the victory is won.

— "Melancholy," Poems (1821). Franz Grillparzer (1791–1872), Austrian author

Artemus Gordon wondered ever after how he got through that night. He did not remember much of it. He found the telegraph office and wrote out a few notes, with basically the same message: _James West dead. Details to follow. Taking him to Washington._ The message went to President Grant, Colonel Richmond, Lily Fortune, several fellow agents, and to Matthew West in Quebec, with only slight variations. He knew Matthew would contact their father; Matthew usually knew where Nevin West was located.

Time and again he wanted to run back to the doctor's house to check again. To look at that still face and be able to say no, that's not him. That's not my friend, my partner, my brother. Jim West is alive. He's undefeatable. A mere fever would not take him. Manzeppi couldn't kill him. Loveless couldn't kill him. So many tried, so many failed. It could not be a fever that finally stole the life from that wonderful, vibrant young man.

But he did not return to the doctor's home. Not immediately. In some ways he felt cowardly for not doing so. He had glimpsed a wagon bearing a long wooden box heading in the direction of the physician's house. _I couldn't bear to see him put into that box. Not yet. Maybe later I can… view him. Not yet._

The decision to take Jim back east was easy. Artemus knew that General Grant would insist on it, as would Richmond and others. Jim had told his partner that his eventual plan had been to have disinterred the body buried at Fort Challenge as soon as feasible and transport it east to Arlington. Artemus remembered teasing his partner about that, suggesting that a separate boxcar would have been hitched behind the train due to the odors involved. He had teased because he had been aware how painful the entire incident had been to Jim West. For quite some time afterwards, Jim appeared to have problems accepting that his partner was indeed still alive.

_Now I can't believe he's dead. I don't know how long it'll be before I'll be able to grasp that he is gone. Gone. Never to grace to parlor car with his inimitable grace and charm. Never to again astound with his athleticism, his wit, his…_

Time and again Artemus had to halt such thoughts, aware that he was close to tears, and he did not want to cry in front of strangers in the small restaurant, or in the telegraph office, or with the sheriff, who proved to be a very sympathetic man. He had heard of West and Gordon, but had had no idea that the feverish man who fell into the mud outside his jail was the famous James West. The stranger had not had any identification with him.

Artemus had sent a wire to the Wanderer, informing the crew and asking them to bring the train to this little town in the morning. The rail lines passed about two miles to the east of here. The plan was to carry the coffin in a wagon out to meet the train. It could be placed in the stable car, for a last ride with Jim's beloved stallion at his side.

_I'll make sure Blackjack is part of the funeral. Then I don't know what I'll do with that blasted horse. No one else can ride him. Maybe I'll just find someone with wide open fields and ask them to give Blackjack a home for the rest of his days. I'll pay any expenses…_

Thoughts like that crept in and out of his mind during the night as he tried to sleep on the cot in the small room behind the sheriff's office. He had gone back to the doctor's house finally to tell the physician that a wagon would be picking up the casket in the morning. Then he had taken one more look, alone in the room, lifting the lid and gazing at the still form. He apologized silently that Jim West was still attired in his muddy garb.

_Maybe in Washington we can scare up a Captain's uniform, huh? _Funny, they had never really talked about what to do if… when… something like this happened. Yet Jim had handled things well the time he thought his partner had died, with the quiet military services at Fort Challenge, and the plans to do grander things in Washington. Jim knew Artemus liked pomp and ceremony.

_And you don't. Didn't. But you're going to get it anyway, pal. You're going to get the grandest damn funeral ever, maybe second only to a presidential funeral. All your friends will be there. I know Matthew and his family are already planning the trip. Perhaps a few enemies too. _Regardless of how people like Loveless and Manzeppi despised James West, Artemus knew they respected him as well in their own ways.

The most astounding and wonderful thing happened the next morning when the Wanderer pulled in…

After sleeping fitfully, Artemus awakened from dreams where Jim West was talking to him, pleading with him to do something, find something. Artie could never quite figure out, upon rousing, what it was about. But the same dream reiterated all through the night, so that when the sky began to lighten, he was sitting on the side of the cot, head in hands, exhausted, knowing he was not going to sleep any further.

He washed up some in a basin of cold water, not attempting to shave. He knew he looked like hell, his clothes soiled and rumpled. But that did not matter right now. He also knew he was going to be unable to eat, but he did go to the café nearby for several cups of coffee. The plump, middle-aged waitress appeared to know his story by now and just kept pouring coffee with a warm, sympathetic smile.

As he was downing his third or fourth cup he heard a familiar sound, the wail of the Wanderer's whistle from the distance. Calling him. Calling James West home for his last ride. Heavily, Artemus got to his feet and walked the short distance to the stable where the horses had been kept overnight. The man there silently helped him saddle both horses; then Artie mounted Mesa and led Blackjack toward the doctor's home.

A buckboard was sitting in front of the house, and half a dozen men waited. Obviously, the doctor had realized the deceased's partner would want to be there before any move was made. Little was said as the men went inside. Artemus fought against the impulse to take one more look inside the box. _I don't want to remember that pale, still face. I want to remember the man I knew and loved, the spirited stallion, like his black horse. Indefatigable. Laughing at life… and death._

Tying the satin black horse, gleaming in this morning's bright sun, at the back of the wagon bearing his master seemed the right thing to do. Artie wondered if somehow Blackjack sensed what was happening. The usually always-moving horse was uncommonly quiet, almost somber.

The wagon took a narrow rutted lane out through fields toward the train track. The sheriff had commented that surveyors had made an error when they laid the spur line; it was supposed to have been laid closer to town. But the actual tracklayers refused to vary from the map they had. "Don't make no never mind," the sheriff had sighed. "If there's something to be delivered here, or a passenger needs to get off, the train just stops. If we need to send something or someone out, we just go out and flag it down."

The Wanderer was waiting, chuffing lightly, somber black smoke coming from the stack, steam released occasionally from under the engine, as the wagon approached. Artie saw the crew standing quietly alongside the engine, hats in hands. And then he saw _her_ emerge from the varnish car.

He later did not remember dismounting and running on foot the last hundred yards or so. All he remembered was she was suddenly in his arms, or he was in hers, and she was voicing her grief in a choked voice. "Oh, darling, I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry. I loved him, as you did, like a brother. And he would have been my brother when we married. Oh Artemus!"

Several minutes elapsed before Artemus realized he was sobbing into her dark shining hair, releasing the grief he had been holding in during the last twelve or more hours. Lily did not ask any questions. That would come later. Artemus had one, though, as he finally was able to speak, drawing back, but still grasping her shoulders, needing the physical touch of her being.

"How did you get here?"

She smiled wanly. "I was in Cheyenne visiting a friend. Your message was forwarded. I figured out where you were, took a train, and then hired a rig. I reached the Wanderer very early this morning before it headed over here."

"Oh, God, Lily! Thank you! I need you so!" He pulled her to him again.

A few minutes later he was able to take her hand to lead her toward the buckboard and the waiting men. Artemus knew these men had homes and jobs to return to. They had generously given of their time and efforts in this difficult task when asked by the doctor and sheriff. He nodded to Orrin, who opened the car's side doors and pushed the ramp down.

_Fate is extremely strange,_ Artemus mused later, time and again, wondering what would have ensued had not that coyote chosen to chase that rabbit in that direction at that particular time on that particular morning, alongside that railroad track. But the coyote did chase the rabbit, which, fleeing for its very life, dashed under the waiting train, and then almost directly under the hooves of the two horses that drew the buckboard with its precious cargo.

The incident happened just as four of the townsmen had climbed up into the wagon bed to heft the casket and were about to carefully negotiate lowering it off the wagon bed into the grips of Orrin and the other men who had come to stand alongside to assist. Artemus and Lily had moved back out of the way, tightly holding each other's hand.

_The first thing I'm going to do,_ Lily remembered thinking at that moment, _is get some food in him, and then tuck him into bed. He looks perfectly awful!_

And then the rabbit appeared, whereupon the startled horses reared and bucked, causing the buckboard to jerk sharply. Men yelled, Lily screamed… and the coffin crashed to the ground over the side of the wagon as the men completely lost their balance and their grip.

With utter horror, Artemus saw the lid burst open and the contents spill out. He was momentarily torn between shielding Lily's eyes from the sight and rushing to try to right things. Then everyone froze, and except for the sounds from the idling engine and the snorting and pawing of the team horses as well as Mesa and Blackjack, all was completely silent.

Orrin Cobb stared, and then slowly turned to his employer. "Boss!"

The word broke the spell and Artemus dashed forward, falling to his knees along side the broken casket. For a long moment he simply stared, then reached out to touch the lumpy bags of feed grain that had spilled onto the ground, not believing what his eyes were seeing.

"What in the world?" Lily asked at his side.

Artemus Gordon looked up at her. "They… it's not Jim. Why… what…" He could not think nor speak coherently.

Lily was the one who put it straight. "They've substituted bags of grain for his body. Why?"

"Stay here." Artemus jumped to his feet and sprang into the saddle of the chestnut, reining around until he was in the direction toward town. Then he put his heels to the horse, leaning low. Mud and ruts be damned, he needed to get back to town immediately.

He rode directly to the doctor's home. No surprise there. The physician was not to be found. Nor was the corpse of James West. Resisting the urge to set out on his own to try to find the doctor, Artie went back to the sheriff's office and told that astounded man what had occurred.

"That's crazy! Why would he do that?"

"What do you know about this doctor, sheriff?"

"Well, not much. He showed up, oh, must have been three weeks ago…. maybe a little longer. Said he was looking to set up his practice and knew we were without a doctor. Older one passed away some months back. Seemed to be a good man. Knew his stuff. Folks liked him."

"But you never checked his credentials, his background?"

"No, never thought to."

Artie grimaced. "Probably wouldn't have made any difference. Chances are you would have learned he was perfectly reputable—whether or not he was actually the man he said he was."

"What do you think is going on? Why would they steal West's body?"

"I'm not even going to try to speculate on that, sheriff." _I'm afraid to. I don't want to get my hopes up. Not yet. We've seen too damn many strange things over the years._ "What I'm going to do is contact my superiors again, maybe get some help to find that doctor… and my partner."

The next few hours were busy ones. Calling on Cobb for assistance in the varnish car, Artemus wrote one message after another, as the engineer sat at the key and sent them out. Lily put together a kettle of soup, and stood over her fiancé, almost spoon-feeding him at times, as he frantically worked at trying to solve as much of the mystery as possible and seek assistance.

The sheriff had promised to put together a posse to try to track down the doctor. Artemus had thanked him and had not discouraged him, even knowing in his heart that such a search would be in vain. Whatever this was about, whoever was behind it, for whatever reasons, a plan would have been in place to immediately hide their tracks and any other signs. Artie knew that some intelligence was behind the whole gambit. He just did not know who or why. The lawman later reported the expected lack of success.

"It's like when I learned Jim had ridden away from the train yesterday," Artemus told Lily as he handed still another handwritten sheet to Cobb, "I don't know where to start. I got lucky yesterday… maybe." Artemus was beginning to wonder about the two fortuitous encounters that steered him to River Bend. He had belatedly told the sheriff about both of them, but the lawman did not recognize his descriptions of either the cowboy or the woman as being residents of the area, but that did not necessarily mean anything. His county was a large one.

By the time evening rolled around, Artemus thought he had things well in hand, except for the part about where to start looking for his partner. He tried not to speculate about whether Jim was actually dead. He had seen the body, touched it. Jim had not been breathing, he was certain. The skin had been cool. Artemus had been around other dead men, and he knew what a dead man looked and felt like. But…

"What are you thinking about?" Lily asked as she handed him a glass of sherry and sat down beside him on the sofa. This was probably the first time they had been alone all day. Orrin and his crew had had their evening meal and retired to their quarters after an exhausting night and day. The train was to pull out before dawn, heading toward Cheyenne.

"When I first found Jim sick and delirious, he kept talking about Loveless. I thought he was just raving, under the fever. Now I can't help but wonder."

"I don't understand. I don't understand any of it, Artemus. How could Jim being sick have anything to do with Dr. Loveless?"

"That's just it, I don't know. There's another strange thing. The entire crew fell asleep at the same time when Jim left the train. That just doesn't seem… right. These are good men. They wouldn't slack their duties. Jim was… is their friend."

"It still doesn't make any sense, darling."

Artemus sighed deeply then took a swallow of the sherry. "I know. Tomorrow morning we'll pick up Frank and Jeremy and you can catch the next train back to…"

"Oh no."

He stared at her. "What do you mean, 'oh no'? Lily, you can't…"

"Yes, I can. I'm nearly as worried about Jim as you are. I can help, my dear, if only as moral support. But I'm not going back to the company until I know what has happened. How could I possibly recite lines on the stage when I don't know what's happened to one of my dearest friends?"

W*W*W*W*W

And what is friendship but a name,

A charm that lulls to sleep,

A shade that follows wealth or fame,

And leaves the wretch to weep?

—_The Hermit. Chap. viii. Stanza 19,_ Oliver Goldsmith (1728-1774), Anglo-Irish writer

"How are you feeling, my dear friend?"

"I'm not sure. Am I alive?"

The giggle was too familiar. "Of course. I'm interested to learn your reactions to everything that occurred. I am a scientist after all. Scientists keep copious notes, you know."

Jim West tried to rise, fell back with a sigh. "Weak as a newborn. What did you do to me?" He looked at the gnome of a man seated beside the bed on which he was laying.

Miguelito Loveless grinned widely. "Many things. You'll learn in time. Suffice it to say that I murdered you and brought you back to life. What do you think about that?"

"Nothing you do surprises me, Loveless."

"Oh, I'm so disappointed. But I do hope you are pleased with your quarters. Only the best for my guests."

Jim allowed his gaze to rove around the well-appointed bedroom, taking in the gleaming glass mirror on the ornate bureau, the stone fireplace, as well as this huge and soft bed with ornate brass-topped posts at all corners. He wasn't bound, though that did not make any difference at the moment. He truly felt as though he would not be able to stand without help. Even just lifting his head was almost impossible. He was under soft coverings, on a soft mattress.

_The big question is how the devil did I end up here? The last clear memory I have is going to bed on the Wanderer. Other memories, fragments, don't make much sense._

"Beautiful room. Where is it located?"

"In my home," Loveless beamed, slipping down off the stool he had been sitting on. "Now I want you to rest. You'll need a great deal, I'm afraid, to regain your full strength. And I want you back to your hale and hearty self."

"I'll do my best," Jim responded dryly. "Don't suppose you're going to tell me what's going on."

"I repeat: you'll learn in time. I'm sure you will be interested in hearing about your funeral."

"Did I have a grand one?"

Again the giggle. "Not yet. But I'm certain it will be memorable." Loveless's eyes grew hard. "This time Mr. Gordon will not be around to rescue you, Mr. West. As far as he is concerned, you are lost to him forever." With a wave, Loveless toddled from the room. Jim did not miss the click of the lock after the door closed behind him.

Reaching up a hand, Jim scrubbed it over his jaw. He was clean-shaven. His attire was also clean, a nightshirt. _I'm not injured as far as I can tell… just so damned weak. I've got to remember what happened…_

Staring toward the ceiling wallpaper with its elaborate design of rosebuds and lilacs intertwined with golden ivy, he tried to think. They had stopped the train on a siding due to the storm, connected to the trackside wires and received word that the way ahead was impassable. With nowhere to go, he and Artie and the crew had played poker until late in the evening, the wind and rain raging outside. Then he had gone to bed in his compartment on the Wanderer.

_Then how the hell did I get here? What does Loveless mean, he murdered me, that Artie thinks I'm dead? _He knew that Loveless would tell him eventually. Perhaps what was surprising was that the little doctor did not boast more about it right away. He usually liked to brag about his accomplishments. What had Loveless done that would have convinced Artie that his partner was dead? Another doppelganger?

_No. I think by now Artie would take extra steps to identify the body… if there was a body. _Was that it? Loveless had arranged some sort of "accident" that made it appear Jim West had died, but with no identifiable corpse? Similar to what Dr. Faustina accomplished in New Orleans? Loveless had said "funeral" rather than "memorial service." _That makes it sound like a body is available. But…_

He sighed wearily. _Right now, I'm all but helpless and obviously in Loveless's clutches. I've got to bide my time, regain my strength. Sounds as though Loveless is going to give me time to do just that. Then what?_

W*W*W*W*W

The people of the world having once been deceived suspect deceit in truth itself.

—from the _Hitopadesha_ (a collection of Sanskrit fables)

"The more I think about it, the more convinced I am it is Dr. Loveless. I don't know how, but with his genius, he could manage such a trick."

"What trick, Artemus?" Jeremy Pike asked, picking up the pot to refill his coffee.

"The trick of somehow spiriting Jim from this train and making him appear to have died."

The other three at the table in the varnish car gazed at him with varying expressions, but all tinged with some doubt. "Artemus, darling," Lily said gently. "You saw Jim. You said…"

"I know what I said. I know what I saw. If that body was a duplicate, it was a perfect replica. Even the scars, scars that no one, not even Loveless, should have known about. The man in the doctor's office was dead by all appearances. But if it's Loveless…"

"We don't know that it's Loveless," Frank Harper put in. "All you have is Jim's ravings."

Artie held his temper, knowing that his friends were playing devil's advocate for the most part. "I didn't pay any attention at the moment, more concerned about his high fever, and it's true, I though he was raving in his delirium. But what if somehow he _knew_ Loveless was involved. If he _saw_ Loveless."

"But how?" Pike demanded. "How, Artemus?"

Artie sighed. "I don't know. We may not know the full story until we find Jim… and Loveless. The important thing is we have to have something, someone to concentrate on. I believe it is Miguelito Loveless. I've already wired Richmond to ask him to ferret out any news he can on Loveless's activities." The train was heading west again, toward the general area of the incident.

"A tall order," Jeremy murmured. Then grinned. "Or maybe I should say, short order."

The others smiled at the pun. Lily looked at her fiancé. "You know I'm going with you, Artie."

He sighed. "I adore you, Lily, but I wish you weren't."

"Too late. I look at it this way. The three of you are expert in disguise and posing as different characters. I'm an actress. There's no reason I cannot do the same. I'm going to help in whatever manner I can."

"First we have to find Loveless… and Jim."

"Artemus," Frank said gently, "there's still the chance Jim is truly dead, even if Loveless is behind it."

"I know that. But I also know Loveless. He would not do something this elaborate merely to collect Jim West's corpse. I have to believe Jim is still alive. It's not just wishful thinking. It's several years of interacting with the little doctor and knowing him well. The problem will be finding him."

"Has to be in the area where Jim disappeared, doesn't it?" Lily inquired.

"Certainly would seem like it; at least initially. If he did indeed somehow cause Jim to be ill, and spirit him off the train, he had to have been watching us, picking the right time. He could have even caused the slides that made it necessary for us to stop right there. The rain may have simply been fortuitous for him. Another thing we know about Loveless is he likes his creature comforts. He's not going to be roughing it any more than necessary."

"He cannot be in a public place," Jeremy put in. "He's far too recognizable."

"Exactly. I asked the colonel to look into whether any large homes have been sold, or even leased, in the general area recently. By general area, I mean within a hundred mile radius."

"Perhaps by morning we'll have some answers," Harper offered. "Something to start working on."

"I hope so," Artemus replied grimly. "I have the distinct feeling that every minute counts… perhaps every second. We have no idea what Loveless is up to."

W*W*W*W*W

The process was slow. After three days, Jim was finally able to use the porcelain thunder mug tucked under bed without assistance. During the first couple of days, a solemn faced man, bald with a thin mustache and a goatee, probably around forty or forty-five, had come to help him. The same man, who said his name was Manchester, assisted him to sit in a chair while a nice-looking redheaded woman in her late thirties changed his bedding, and he also shaved Jim each morning. The redhead, Jim learned, was Mrs. Manchester. They addressed each other as Edith and Boyd.

Jim submitted to these ministrations for two reasons. One was he initially had not much choice due to his weakened condition. The other was that he wanted Loveless to believe that whatever he was planning, it was working, that his prisoner was helpless. Loveless visited him from time to time primarily to gloat. Jim was continually surprised, however, that the little doctor did not boast about his accomplishments and plans, never described them in detail. _Perhaps Loveless is turning the tables this time_, he mused. _Usually we're able to get him to talk by feigning disinterest._

Loveless was assuredly concerned about his patient's recovery, but did not discuss how he managed to accomplish the kidnapping, nor what he intended to do once Jim regained his health. Nor could Jim imagine either what had occurred or what was expected to occur. How had Loveless spirited him away from the train in the presence of Artemus and the crew? Why could he himself not remember what happened? What had caused this extraordinary weakness in his body?

Edith Manchester brought him three meals each day, three very good meals, at first consisting of rather soft and easily digestible but tasty dishes, becoming more complex each day, always delicious and well-prepared. Jim was not especially surprised. Loveless liked his luxuries, and having an excellent cook would be part and parcel, along with this apparently large and magnificent house. Jim was anxious to regain enough strength to go to the windows and look out. All he could see from the bed was blue sky and the tip of a tree waving in the breeze. He began to realize, however, that regaining full strength too soon might not be a good idea, so he continued to claim more weakness than he was actually experiencing.

Neither of his attendants was talkative. The only conversation consisted of them usually asking him to sit up, or lately, to stand up with their assistance, ignoring any questions he posed. Jim could understand their reticence. Loveless was not known for his patience with hirelings who disobeyed orders or talked too much.

Once when Loveless opened the door to enter, Jim heard a familiar voice outside the door, apparently speaking to the doctor. He idly wondered why Antoinette did not come visit him. Jim had asked whether Voltaire was in residence, but Loveless ignored the query.

On the evening of the seventh day since he awakened here, Jim was resting against pillows, absently leafing through a book that had been on a shelf in the room, one containing pictures of Egyptian pyramids and other relics with stories about their history, when Loveless entered. Jim barely glanced up as the little man swaggered across the room, but he noticed that the doctor was carrying a bundle of newspapers.

Loveless pulled the stool over next to the bed—he had apparently specifically arranged for that piece of furniture to be in the room so as to elevate himself to a decent height for conversation—and climbed up on it. "I have some far more fascinating reading material for you, Mr. West," he smirked, laying the pile on the bed.

"I'm finding the pharaohs quite enthralling." Jim ignored the papers.

Loveless scowled and picked up one of the newspapers, spreading it out to display the first page. "I thought you might be interested in reading about your own funeral."

"Now I have to admit, that does interest me for some reason." Jim laid the book aside, looked down at the paper, an edition from Denver. The headlines were rather large: _**Special Agent James T. West Buried at Arlington Cemetery with Full Military Honors**_. "Nice." He picked up the paper and scanned the article. He did not smile. Obviously for all his genius, Loveless was not familiar with military protocol in such ceremonies. Casually Jim leafed through the other three publications, another from Denver, one from Cheyenne, and one from Laramie. _Gives me a fair idea of our location._ All contained the same protocol error.

"So you see, you need not hope Mr. Gordon will be expending his energy searching for you. He believes you died of your illness, thus he won't even be seeking vengeance. He inspected your body for identifiable scars at the doctor's home, to ensure he was indeed viewing your remains."

_If that's true, that partially explains how Loveless was able to convince Artie I'm dead. _"My illness?" Jim gazed at his tormenter. "I don't remember being ill."

Loveless smirked. "Of course you don't. You went to sleep and you did not awaken until I had you brought here… dead."

Jim glanced down at himself. "I don't feel dead." He was on top of the coverlet, clad in a rough tunic and loose trousers that Manchester had brought in, feet bare, though a pair of huaraches were on the floor by the bed.

"Someday," Loveless mused, "the world is going to acknowledge my genius for what it is, the greatest in history. In fact that may happen sooner than you think."

"When are you going to tell me what you did?"

"Right now. If you ask nicely."

"Very well," Jim sighed with exaggerated resignation. "Please tell me how you accomplished this. How did I come to be here without no memory of what occurred?"

Loveless folded his hands, face placid but blue eyes gleaming. "It really is very simple. Simple plans work best, you know." He was conveniently ignoring all his own elaborate schemes that had come to naught, primarily due to the efforts, or interference, as he would label it, of agents West and Gordon. "I have been following your activities for some time, waiting for the perfect moment to act. The superior instruments I have invented to prognosticate weather informed me of the major storm that would strike, and I realized your train was heading directly into it. A straightforward matter to send men ahead to ensure that earth failed and blocked the track, so that your train had to stop on a particular siding.

"Then late at night, when the train was dark, inserting small rubber tubes at strategic locations to pump an odorless gas into the train cars was also very easy. The gas caused all the occupants to fall into a deep sleep, deeper than normal, and one that would not permit them to be disturbed by the noise of our entry and activities. I went to your compartment and injected you with a serum that brought about the symptoms of a very serious illness…"

"I saw you!" Jim experienced an abrupt revelation. Like a nightmare that continued after awakening, he had opened his eyes and seen the little man at his bedside.

"Yes, yes, you may well have. I must admit I was startled—perhaps the pain of the needle roused you. But the gas had dazed you, and I had already used the hypodermic. You went back into unconsciousness immediately. I imagine that by the time Mr. Gordon awakened, you were in the throes of a malarial-like agony with a raging fever and fierce headaches. We were waiting outside in that miserable weather, watching, and saw him gallop away in the early morning, obviously to fetch a physician.

"The crew remaining on the train were intent on your care, so again the gas was injected into the cars without detection. Once they were unconscious, we merely walked in and carried you off, taking some of your clothes, and your horse—which proved to be quite a fractious beast, I tell you. The next step was a bit more complicated. You were taken to the outskirts of the town of River Bend, placed on the horse, and allowed to ride down the street. Only then did that black monster calm down, with you on his back. The tenderhearted sheriff there immediately took you to the local doctor, who just happened to be in my employ. We arranged for Mr. Gordon to find you… but too late. You were dead."

"How?" Jim was more fascinated than he would have cared to admit.

"Of course, had the time been available, I could have taught you the stages of yoga, to the spiritual state of _samadhi_, required to emulate a deathlike state. Instead I administered another of my brilliant serums. Something I've been working on for years, a combination of various herbs, insect venom, and other chemicals. Properly injected, the guise of death is almost perfect. The heart slows down to an imperceptible rhythm, the skin cools and pales. The trick is to administer the antidote within a certain period of time, which was accomplished, and you were transported here, while bags of grain of the exact proper weight were substituted in the casket."

Jim glanced down at the newspaper again. "Artemus believes he buried me. The funeral parlor in Washington should have…"

Loveless beamed even more. "I always think ahead, and plan for everything," he preened. "You know that. I learned which of Washington's many funeral parlors were apt to be used by your agency or the military, and planted one or two of my employees in each one. I'm waiting to hear from them concerning which was contacted and how it all came about, but for obvious reasons they cannot contact me directly, so that will, unfortunately, take a little time. When Mr. Gordon called to make arrangements, he was told that, sadly, your body had deteriorated seriously on the journey across the country, perhaps due to the high fevers experienced prior to death. Mr. Gordon would have been advised that a closed casket was the best option, as little could be done to make your poor mortal clay presentable."

"You're so thoughtful." Jim glanced at the newspapers. _I wish I knew whether that error in the description of the services means Loveless created these papers, or Artemus planted it as a clue to me. The same error in every article could mean… Could he really believe I died? I had no doubt about his death in Tohachi. I saw him die. If Loveless is relating the true story, Artemus saw my body, checked the scars…_

"Now, I don't want to tire you. You are not recovering as rapidly as I had expected, given your normal superb physical conditioning. I hoped we could begin the next phase of the plan in a week or so. Certainly no more than two weeks." Loveless jumped down from the stool.

"What is the next phase?"

The little doctor grinned. "You are always so impatient. Don't fret about it. I assure you that you will appreciate my plans once you learn them. This time I have considered all alternatives. Mr. Gordon will not be coming to your rescue."

W*W*W*W*W

Cease, every joy, to glimmer in my mind, But leave—oh! leave the light of Hope behind!

—_Pleasures of Hope (pt. II, l. 375),_

Thomas Campbell (1763-1854), Anglo-American theologian

Artemus Gordon definitely had mixed feelings about Lily Fortune's participation. He knew, nonetheless, that these last few days would have been much less bearable without her presence. Frank and Jeremy were supportive, but Artie was aware that they believed him deluded to even hope Jim was still alive. After all, _he_ was the one who had seen, touched, and identified the cold clay that had once been a vital man.

_That's the anomaly, the incongruity. I did see the body. I did investigate and I identified the scars. Yet, I cannot get rid of this odd faith, this sincere belief, that my friend, my brother, is still alive somewhere. Especially if Loveless is involved—and we are more and more certain of that—the odds seem increase in my favor._

Lily's presence was both warming and frightening to Artie. She knew about Loveless from the stories he and Jim had told her. But hearing those tales and actually facing such a man were completely different. Artemus had no doubt of Lily's love and desire to help in this situation. He also had few doubts concerning her courage, but at this moment, they had no idea what they were going to face. Whether or not they found Jim alive was beyond the point: Loveless was insane, and any involvement with him was fraught with peril. They had put together what they felt was a clever plan, but one just never knew where Loveless was concerned. He might be a step behind them, but might also be two steps ahead!

Yesterday, nine full days after the coffin broke open and revealed the truth, information had arrived that indicated Dr. Miguelito Loveless was indeed in this area of the country. The department had already planted news stories about the Wanderer arriving in Washington, DC and the ensuing ceremonies honoring a war hero and famous Secret Service agent. Artemus had been the one to suggest that a slight error be written into the stories. _If_ Jim was alive, and _if_ he was in Loveless's grasp, Artie had no doubt that the little doctor's ego would goad him to show the articles to Jim, and Jim would pick up on the error. Reading the articles might cause Jim to realize that the department was on his trail.

Lawmen and citizens in this area of southern Wyoming as well as into northern Colorado had been contacted, asking, first of all, whether anyone fitting Loveless's description had been seen, including Antoinette and Voltaire. The trio was very distinctive in appearance and often had difficulty hiding.

Although no responder claimed to have spotted all three together, enough information was forthcoming that convinced them that Loveless and his retinue were in this area at the time of Jim's illness and "death." The doctor who had so fortuitously been available in River Bend had been investigated, and no man of his name and description had been known anywhere as a physician, especially in the city he had claimed to originate from. The description of this doctor had been included in the queries that had been sent out.

Placing pins in a map displaying all the locations of sightings convinced the agents that Loveless was headquartered in an area west of Laramie and east of the Medicine Bow area. The next chore had been to literally pinpoint the little doctor's location, which turned out to be easier than expected. A sheriff in a small town informed them that the owner of a formerly prosperous silver mine nearby had departed with his family on the Grand Tour a few months ago. They planned to be absent at least two years, and left an agent in charge of their palatial home, with instructions to rent it out if possible.

The sheriff had not seen anyone matching the description of Loveless, Voltaire, or Antoinette, but the new tenants were a couple, man and wife named Manchester. The husband was a bald man, fitting the doctor's description, whereas the wife was redheaded. Although before that moment, Artie had entertained only mild suspicions regarding the woman who had provided him with the information regarding a rider on a black horse, it all added up. The helpful cowboy, he surmised, had been a plant as well.

They had moved the train as close as they dared to the region, and asked the sheriff who had provided the information to visit them for a long conversation. He proved to be an intelligent, handsome man around forty who was more than willing to assist. He had, he stated, met James West during the late conflict, when their regiments fought side by side in a cavalry clash in the Shenandoah Valley.

"Not like we became great friends," Charles Dufour admitted, "but I know I was impressed by that young captain. Never was surprised when I started reading about him in the newspapers. I was greatly grieved to learn of his death."

Being made cognizant of the circumstances of that "death," Dufour was eager to help, especially if Mr. Gordon's theories were correct. He volunteered to call on the new tenants under the guise of simply checking to see that all was well with them. When he returned to the train, Dufour reported that Mr. and Mrs. Manchester had appeared ill at ease in his presence.

"They most certainly did not appear to be the kind of people who would lease a house like that. Looked more like servants to me." He had not, however, noticed any signs of the other trio. The only other persons he saw were some men apparently doing outside chores. The sheriff had to admit that he had no idea whether the owners had left a staff behind to keep the place up. The agent had gone on an extended trip himself after arranging the tenancy, thus was unavailable for immediate answers.

"The Phipps family didn't socialize much with local people," Dufour added. "I think the only reason they built that house where they did was because of its proximity to the old mine. When the mine played out, that's where they lived and that's where they stayed, although they do quite a bit of traveling. They went to India a couple of years ago. Now they are taking the two older daughters to Europe to try to match them up with royalty, I reckon. Seems to be the thing rich folks do. But I never saw much of them, and I don't think many others did either."

Learning about the Phipps family made it easier to formulate a plan. Frank Harper had never encountered Loveless, so his part was the easiest. His only disguise would be flashy garb, including a diamond stickpin and a ring with an even bigger diamond. Those jewels and others were rushed to them from Denver, where a grateful jeweler was always willing to cooperate with the service that had saved him millions of dollars in the past.

Aware that they might need to continue their disguises for several days, the others chose with care and simplicity. Both Artemus and Lily added slight silvering to their hair, and Artemus donned a great dark beard streaked with white. Jeremy pasted on a heavy mustache and used pomade to slick and shine his hair. Their costumes and accents would, they hoped, take care of the remainder of the masquerade. Frank already wore a mustache, but changed the style of his hair and donned gold-rimmed spectacles.

Acquiring the needed clothing was not quite as easy as the jewels, but again, contacts in Denver assisted, especially ones that Lily had. Her acting troupe was further east at this time, but some of their gear was stored in Denver for a future appointment there. Lily sent several telegraph messages and soon trunks were arriving at the train. The trunks themselves would come in handy to help convince the Manchesters, and anyone else at the mansion, that the party had indeed traveled across the Atlantic.

W*W*W*W*W

Jim was standing at the window of his room, gazing out at the vista that included a barn, stable, and several other outbuildings, when the door behind him opened. He turned to find a red-faced Miguelito Loveless entering.

"Something wrong, doctor?" Jim had long ago learned that a mild reaction to any distress Loveless was experiencing only helped exacerbate whatever was disturbing the little man.

Loveless glared at him. "Company! Blasted company!"

"What?" Jim was genuinely puzzled. He crossed over to the soft chair in the corner near the fireplace and sank into it as though fatigued, extending his legs in a relaxed manner.

"Englishmen! Englishmen! The worst kind! And one Englishwoman! I don't know which is worse, the male or the female of the species!" Loveless was stomping around the room now, waving his arms.

"Doctor, you're going to have to calm down. You're wearying me." Jim had continued to deliberately give the impression that his recovery from the treatments he had received was progressing much more slowly than Loveless had predicted, or desired. He rubbed his forehead now. "Perhaps Antoinette can bring me another cup of that wonderful tea."

The lovely Antoinette had visited him yesterday, bringing a tray of tea things, including a pot of fragrant herbal tea. Jim had convinced her to sit down and join him; because two cups were on the tray, he suspected she had had it in mind anyway and needed only a bit of persuasion. Also, because the tea had been poured from the same pot, he felt safe that it was not tainted. Jim had taken advantage of the situation to attempt to flirt with her. Although Antoinette never overtly responded, he noticed, as he had on other occasions, that she watched him under her lashes or out of the corner of her eyes.

Now Loveless scowled. "Antoinette has other things to do, contending with those… those dolts!"

_He's actually allowing her to interact with visitors? Had he himself greeted them? _Jim had gathered in earlier conversations with Loveless that Boyd and Edith Manchester had been set up as the tenants of the home while the doctor remained in the background. Could be these visitors were more than the Manchesters could manage.

"You have to tell me more, Doctor. I don't understand. Who are these people? Why don't you just send them away?" Jim tried to give the impression that his physical weakness was affecting his thinking ability.

Loveless expelled a noisy sigh, but stopped pacing. "They won't _go_ away! A Mr. and Mrs. Arthur Farthing-Crosthwaite, their servant Jagger something or other, and a fellow who claims to be a former business associate and investor in the Phipps mine. Francis Mayfield. English too. Annoying as the devil. Keep insisting they are here for an extended visit, that Phipps invited them. When I informed them that the Phipps family is in Europe, Farthing-Crosthwaite just tut-tutted in that irksome British manner and said, 'Oh no, old boy. You are quite mistaken. We are visiting them _here. _We'll just settle in and wait. I'm sure you don't mind.'" Loveless performed a credible imitation of a highborn English accent. So he had indeed met them in person.

"If you like, I'll go down and throw them out."

For just a fraction of an instant, Jim thought Loveless was going to accept the offer. The little man glowered. "I'll get rid of them somehow. But they sent their carriage off, the blasted idiots. Unloaded their trunks and apparently told the driver to get rooms in town. I tried to offer them a carriage from here, but they insist on their own, before they'll even consider leaving. I have to get it back here, and that's half a day away!"

Jim put his hand to his forehead, closed his eyes. Loveless spoke anxiously then. "Has your headache returned?"

"I'm afraid so. Had it last night too."

"Shall I bring some of the powders?" the doctor asked solicitously, coming toward the chair.

Jim sighed. "I don't think so. They don't seem to work that well. Do you think this is a residual of the medications you injected into my system?"

"Well, I don't know," Loveless fretted. "As I told you, I tested it on two previous subjects. The first one died, unfortunately. But the second one survived with no ill effects. We do know that all human systems are different, however, and may react in various ways."

Loveless was close now. Even though Jim did not open his eyes, he sensed just how near the doctor was to the chair. Chances were he could reach out and grab him, but he was unsure just yet about his own strength. He felt much better than the appearance he was presenting to Loveless; nevertheless, he was not his normal self yet. As well, Loveless possessed some athletic skills. At their first meeting, Jim had witnessed him defeating men of normal size and great strength in a martial contest.

Jim expelled an even louder sigh, and opened his eyes. "I don't know, doctor. This might be a time when you erred. I don't think I'm getting better."

"Nonsense! You just need more time, that's all. It will delay my plans, but that's well and good. They were not set in stone. Meanwhile, I have to deal with those twits downstairs. I'm sure they will need to stay the night at least."

"Don't suppose you'd allow me to at least meet them. I'm becoming very bored in here."

"No," Loveless snapped. "You must remain in seclusion… and under guard. I know you too well, Mr. West. For all I know, your claims of feeling poorly are a sham."

"No, doctor," Jim groaned, clapping a hand to his forehead again and squeezing his eyes tight. "This pain is no sham! That tea…"

"All right, all right. As soon as Antoinette is free, I'll send her with the tea. Or perhaps I'll have her prepare it and instruct Voltaire to bring it. I believe that would be preferable, to insure that you are not thinking of any tricks." He turned and stalked from the room. Jim heard the lock click as usual.

He got up and went to the window again. He was unsure what he hoped to see. Was it possible? Arthur, Lillian, Jagger, and Francis. Were those names purely a coincidence? He almost did not dare to hope. _I have to rely on myself, and not plan on anyone else rescuing me. _

W*W*W*W*W

If appearances are deceitful, then they do not deserve any confidence

when they assert what appears to them to be true.

_Pyrrho_. _xi_, Diogenes Laërtius, Greek philosopher and biographer

"I say, old chap!" Arthur Farthing-Crosthwaite leaped to his feet as the small man entered the parlor where the four visitors were waiting; three had been seated while the servant Jagger hovered nearby. "I say there! What is the bloody—pardon me, Lillian dear—delay in readying our rooms? Have you sent that cable message to Phipps as I instructed?" He put his hands behind his back and leaned forward, jutting his bearded chin forward as well.

Artemus Gordon saw how Miguelito Loveless was struggling to control his temper.

"I'm attending to that, Mr. Far… sir."

"Not Sir," Artie chortled with a loud snort. "Not yet, though it's rumored the Queen will get around to that next year. Won't that be jolly, Lillian, dear?"

Lily Fortune fluttered her fan. "A lot of pother and to do," she grumbled. "It's well past teatime. When _will_ our rooms be ready? This is unacceptable. Where's that maid of yours, doctor… what _did_ you say your name was?" She now peered at him through lorgnettes held above her haughty nose. The three men had tutored Lily, stating that the best masquerades were often those that did not allow the person they were attempting to deceive to have time to think. Constant chatter, as annoying as possible, was the best front.

"Smith," Loveless snapped. "Dr. John Smith. The tea is coming. The staff is a bit overworked. I let a number of them go because we did not need as many as the Phipps family did. Your rooms will be ready soon. And I've sent word to have your carriage back here early tomorrow."

"Tomorrow!" Francis Mayfield exclaimed, but did not rise from the soft chair in which he was ensconced with the glass of whiskey he had served himself from the bottles on the buffet near the door. "My dear sir! The Phipps cannot be returning that soon!"

Loveless glared at him. "You expect to remain here until they do?"

"Of course," Frank Harper sniffed. "We traveled quite a long journey to visit. You most certainly do not expect us to turn around and return before we spend the appointed time with Mr. and Mrs. Phipps, by Jove. Bloody foolishness. Excuse me, Lillian. Unheard of!"

"The Phipps are in Europe!" Loveless all but yelled. "They won't be returning for months, possibly more than a year! You cannot stay here for an extended period of time."

Artemus strolled around, idly twirling the cane that had been leaning against his chair. "I say… this is rather a primitive little cottage. That little fireplace is charming, but not one quarter the size of the ingle in our first parlor." He gazed at the stone hearth that consumed half of one wall. "But we are becoming accustomed to roughing it. You cannot imagine what we had to abide on the ship passage. There was that hotel in New York, laughably claiming to be one of the finest in the world. How the colonies live! We will have so much to amuse our friends with when we do return to dear old England."

"Oh," Lily cried, tittering, "remember that dining room in… what was the name of that little town? Chi… something. No notion of how tea should be prepared, let alone served. I thought I would perish from hunger."

Artie snorted. "Indeed. I hope your staff is knowledgeable, Smith. The proper service of tea is vital, you understand. England's greatness is built on a proper tea. You know, Smith? India, you know. Indian tea. Not your local red men of course. True Indian. Yes, indeed. The colonies that remained under the British rule have prospered and learned. America…" He shook his head with an expression of pure disgust. "Bah!"

The Manchesters entered then, bearing two laden trays. Immediately the guests began to complain about the content and the taste of the repast, as "Jagger" hastened to serve them. Artie could see that Loveless was beside himself. He wanted to be rid of these interlopers, but he knew he must do it in such a manner as to not call undue attention to his presence here with outside authorities. Loveless did not want the Englishmen to start complaining to the locals or anyone else about the treatment they received.

_Thus far,_ Artie mused as he sipped some excellent Pekoe and made a face indicating it was anything but good, _Loveless does not appear to be suspicious. We have to keep him busy, too busy to even consider that we might be imposters. Once night falls, perhaps some snooping could be carried out._

W*W*W*W*W

Where is the man who has the power and skill

To stem the torrent of a woman's will?

For if she will, she will, you may depend on't;

And if she won't, she won't; so there's an end on't.

—Unattributed author, from the pillar erected on

the Mount in the Dane John Field, Canterbury,

"I'm sorry you have a headache," Antoinette said as she placed the small tray on the bedside table. "Is it any better?"

Jim had hastened to lie down on the bed as soon as he heard a sound at the door, and now he smiled wanly. "A little. I'm sure the tea will help. Will you join me again?"

"I'm sorry, Mr. West, but things are incredibly busy downstairs. Did Miguelito tell you about the unexpected visitors?" She carefully poured the amber liquid into a delicate cup as Jim hoisted himself up against pillows.

"Yes. British?"

"Very British! Seems there was some terrible mix-up where they thought they were to visit the Phipps family, while the Phipps went to Europe to see them! To tell you the truth, I get the impression that these people aren't too bright."

Jim smiled as he accepted the cup and saucer. "To many marriages within the family, perhaps."

Antoinette giggled. "Perhaps. But I'm afraid Miguelito is quite distraught about it. He's afraid they will disrupt his plans. And there's always the chance one of them will wander into the laboratory. That would be terrible."

"Wouldn't it, though," Jim responded. "I'd be delighted to try to help him entertain the visitors, but I'm afraid the doctor won't allow that."

Her smile was coy. "No, Mr. West, I'm quite sure that would not be possible."

He sighed. "This room is getting to be very small. I'm not accustomed to such confinement."

Antoinette gazed down at him. "Then you must get well, so that the next phase can begin. I'm afraid that's the only way you'll leave this room."

"What is the next phase, Antoinette? Can't you tell me?" He put a little inflection on the second question, making it sound more intimate, just between them.

"I'm afraid Miguelito would be very put out with me if I did. But don't worry. It won't be as bad as what you've just been through, although I suppose…" She halted, frowning.

"What is it?"

"Oh, nothing really. Miguelito is so brilliant, you know that. But even he cannot assure everything will proceed correctly. He's quite upset that you are still experiencing headaches and are not recuperating as rapidly as he expected. I'm sure he is double-checking the next procedure. He would not want the same thing to occur."

Jim held himself in check. "Are you saying more drug injections are in store?" He tried to sound merely interested rather than appalled.

"You mustn't be concerned, Mr. West." Antoinette smiled solicitously. "You could look at it this way… when the procedure is completed, you will not be concerned about how your former partner feels about your death. I must be going before Miguelito becomes upset. You just rest. It's important you regain your full health before the next step."

As Antoinette departed, Jim lay still, holding the saucer in one hand, the cup in the other, but not drinking. _I don't like the sound of that at all. More drugs… drugs that may alter my memories. How does Loveless expect to get away with this? Even if I don't remember who I am, who my friends are, I will still be James West in appearance. Unless…_

The chill crawled up his spine. Loveless was an extraordinary surgeon among his other talents. He had once changed the face of another man, Janus, into a perfect likeness of James West. Was that the plan? To alter James West's face, so that he would have the knowledge, perhaps the instincts of James West, but would become another man entirely, with a different face as well as different memories?

_Artie, I hope I'm right in believing that's you downstairs bothering the hell out of Loveless. You, Frank, Jeremy and… Lily? _Jim could not think of another woman who might be involved. Would Artie have allowed Lily…. He paused his thoughts and laughed softly. Lily Fortune was a strong-minded woman. Sometimes Jim wondered if Artemus really understood what he was in for when the day came that he married Lily. She was not going to be a sweet compliant housewife. She had already proven she was a spirited, courageous woman as well: one in a million.

W*W*W*W*W

Mr. and Mrs. Farthing-Crosthwaite were outraged to realize that they were expected to share a room and bed. Why, that was unheard of for people of their social status! At Bracewick—the family estate—each had a suite with a sitting room and dressing room! Mrs. Farthing-Crosthwaite complained that the same _faux pas_ had occurred in New York and other stopping points in this barbarous country. What strange ideas these colonists possessed! She ranted on and on, complaining, giving unneeded advice, and often simply getting in the way as Mr. and Mrs. Manchester and Antoinette scurried to prepare another room.

During the commotion, Artemus stood in the corridor, nose in the air, while covertly inspecting the surroundings. Originally, two rooms, side by side, had been designated for the visitors, and now a third room, alongside the one Antoinette had tried to give to the Farthing-Crosthwaites would be used. Several other doors stood open or partially open. One at the end of the hallway, toward the back of the great house, was tightly closed.

Idly, but retaining an expression of haughty annoyance on his countenance, Arthur Farthing-Crosthwaite ambled down the hallway, pausing to inspect the oils on the wall, or to even peer in through the open doors. He saw rooms with sheets draped over the furnishings, obviously the family rooms, or even guest rooms, not in use with the family away. The doors may have been left open by Mrs. Manchester as she hastily chose which ones to refresh for the visitors.

Artemus was just two doors away from the closed one when Voltaire abruptly appeared, seemingly out of the wall, though Artie quickly realized that he had been in a room across from the sealed door. "You need help, mister?"

Somehow hearing the giant of a man speak was always startling. Appearing taken aback, even apprehensive, was no stretch. "No… no… not at all. Just… looking. Pardon me!" Artie whirled and hurried back to the others.

Jeremy was standing stiffly, still laden with several smaller pieces of luggage that had been retrieved from the room where "husband and wife" had been expected to spend the night. Artemus moved closer to him. "You saw?"

"I saw," Pike murmured, shifting the weight of the bags uncomfortably. "Guarding?"

"That's what I'm wondering. When the house quiets, we'll see about a meeting."

W*W*W*W*W

Jim heard the commotion outside his door, and pressed his ear up against it in an attempt to hear the voices more clearly. The wood was thick and solid, thus he could not understand any of the words, only ideas about the tone and inflection in the voices. Someone was very upset about something. Was that Lily Fortune's voice wailing and complaining, or was it wishful thinking on his part?

He had watched out the window as much as possible as the evening progressed, hoping to see someone out there, someone other than the several men who appeared to do the outside chores. He spotted at least three different men in and around the barn and stable. At one point when all three were visible, they had a conversation with someone out of his line of vision. He had no idea whether it could have been Loveless or Manchester, or even Voltaire, or possibly another hired hand that had not come into view yet. He also tried to memorize each man he saw in an effort to discern just how many hired men were on the premises; thus far he thought he had counted at least six.

_It would be really helpful to find out just how many men Loveless has here, whether I have to attempt an escape on my own or have help._ He pressed harder against the door, trying to concentrate solely on the sounds out in the hall. Was that Artie's voice? The temptation to pound on the door was strong but Jim resisted. Whether his friends or unknown parties, he might create a dangerous situation for everyone by making his presence known to them.

The noise finally abated. Jim heard the sound of doors closing. With a sigh, he wandered back to the window. He could not see much because of the deepening darkness, but he was also not ready to go to bed yet. He had not lied when he told Antoinette and Loveless of his boredom. The solitary confinement brought memories of another time when he had been Loveless's prisoner, waiting to be executed when the newly created James West double proved to be successful in deceiving Artemus.

_Apparently execution is not in his plans this time… perhaps something worse. It seems as though Loveless expects me to willingly assist him in his crimes. To change my way of thinking—my morals—seems impossible, but with Loveless, who knows? Does he truly have some method, some new drug that will cause me to lose certain memories, but retain others, such as the key to robbing the San Francisco Mint?_

As he had done a dozen or more times already, Jim wandered about the room, looking in the empty drawers and the empty closet, still hoping to find something that he could use on the door lock. As before, he found nothing. He could not even pry off a piece of decorative metal on the corner of the mirrored bureau with his fingers. Pretty obviously, Loveless had made sure that this would be the case.

Even his clothing, loose slacks and a buttonless tunic, were free of anything resembling an instrument that might assist him in escaping. The huaraches were constructed with no rivets, no metal whatsoever. When his meals were served, Manchester generally stood near the door waiting to take the dishes and utensils back. He did not overtly count the pieces, but Jim was sure he did.

W*W*W*W*W

Oft expectation fails and most oft there

Where most it promises, and oft it hits

Where hope is coldest and despair most fits.

—_Alls Well That Ends Well, Act II, sc. 1, _William Shakespeare

The meeting was held in Lily's room because it was the one farthest from the room where Voltaire was apparently ensconced. Artie wondered if the big man had been placed in that location because he was guarding Jim, or if for another reason. Was Jim in the room with the closed door, or in the same room with Voltaire? _Is Jim here at all?_

"What next?" Frank asked.

"Well, I _think_ we have Loveless bamboozled for the moment," Artemus said.

"But for how long?" Lily put in.

"That's the problem," her fiancé nodded. "I suspect that Jim is either in that room at the of the hall, or in the one with Voltaire." He saw how Frank and Jeremy exchanged glances; they were still doubtful of his convictions. _Hell, I'm even doubtful at times!_

However, Jeremy asked quietly, "How do we find out?"

"I'm going down to that closed door," Artie began.

Lily grabbed his arm. "Artemus, no. Voltaire is…"

"I know, dear. I think I can do it, however, by…"

This time Frank interrupted. "Artemus, you'd better let me."

Artie looked at him. "Why?"

Harper grinned. "I can run faster than you for one thing."

"You're both wrong," Jeremy stated. "I'm the one, and here's why. I'm the servant. I'm quartered downstairs. I came upstairs to ask my boss something about my duties, and got lost, knocked on the wrong door."

"Jer's right," Frank said after a long moment.

Artie sighed. "Yeah, I'm afraid he is." _But I wanted to be the one to find Jim. I know he's here. I can feel it._

Lily said, "We should be in our rooms, in our beds, when Jeremy goes down the hall."

"In fact," Artemus said slowly, "Jer, you should go back downstairs, wait maybe ten, fifteen minutes, then come back, after you make sure all is quiet."

Pike was nodding his head. "So there's no chance it will appear I just came out of this room."

He left then, and after about five minutes, Frank slipped out and went to his own room two doors down. Artemus kissed Lily's forehead. "There'll come a time when I won't have to leave your room at night."

She laughed softly. "But not tonight, darling. Get along." Lily followed him to the door, and caught his hand. "Artie, dear, I know how much you want to find Jim. But please don't get your hopes up too high. Just because we've found Loveless doesn't mean that he still has Jim… alive."

Artie sighed. "I know. I know." _How can I explain to them? How many times have Jim and I known what the other was doing or thinking, without words. How many times did we sense the other was in danger?_ "Good night, dearest." This time he touched his lips to hers then quickly exited.

Artemus changed into his nightshirt and threw the blankets back, but did not crawl into bed. Instead, he donned his robe and sat in the dark, listening. He was sure he heard Jeremy move down the hall, but he remained still, waiting, expecting to hear a roar from the giant Voltaire at any time. What he wanted to hear was two sets of footsteps coming back down the passageway.

He heard nothing until a tap sounded on the door. He rushed to the door and opened it to admit Jeremy Pike, who stepped inside and shook his head sadly. "Nothing, Artemus. I opened the locked door with my pick. There's no one in there."

"Then he must be with Voltaire…"

Again Jeremy shook his head, more strongly. "I don't think so. I could hear Voltaire snoring, so I took a chance and peeked inside. He appears to be alone in there. Jim's not here, Artemus."

Artie turned away. Pike's unspoken words reverberated in his brain. Jim's not here; _Jim's dead_.

"What now?" Jeremy asked softly.

Artemus Gordon sighed heavily. "I guess we make our excuses and our apologies and get the hell out of here in the morning."

W*W*W*W*W

The night air was cold… very cold. Jim West crouched low and stared toward the big house. Every fiber of his being kept saying, _get out of here!_ He knew he could not. Not until he made certain whether the visitors were who he thought they were, and that they were able to leave safely, regardless of their true identity.

_Loveless was upset today. The sudden intrusion threw him off balance. But tonight, resting, he might realize the possibilities. He might start thinking about the strangeness of the unexpected visitors. He could even start realizing how closely one of them resembles Artemus Gordon, if indeed that is the case._

_But I have to be sure._

Perhaps it had been the lingering effects of the drugs he had been injected with dulling his mind, but until tonight, just as he was preparing for bed, Jim abruptly realized that he had not noticed that the window was not barred, only locked from the inside. He had been concentrating on finding a method to open the door, never considering the possibility of escape through the windows. Perhaps Loveless thought that because the room was on the second floor, and perhaps factoring in the drugs again, felt that Jim West could not possibly escape from the room.

Jim had opened the window, and after some inspection—made more difficult by the darkness—decided he could scale down the wall. With the aid of some ornate wall projections and an old nearly dead vine, he had made it. He wished now he had thought to toss a blanket out the window before he descended. The sandals were not much warmth on his feet, and the shirt and trousers were fairly thin. Add into the mix that he was completely unarmed, the smartest thing to do would be to try to get a horse, and failing that, to start walking.

_But I have to be sure._

That phrase kept echoing in his head. He was also debating whether to go back inside the house. He had awakened in that bedroom that first day and had never left it, thus had no knowledge of the layout inside. The commotion he had heard earlier indicated the guests were on that second floor as well, but… _I could blunder around, get caught again, and not help them or myself._

Beyond all that, his stamina was a question. He had deliberately tried to convince Loveless that he was not recovering as rapidly as the doctor expected. Nonetheless, the truth was that simply climbing down the wall and racing out here beyond the buildings to a clump of brush inside the hedge that arced around the front of the main house, a distance of around a hundred yards, had been exhausting. After resting awhile, despite the chill air, he had recovered somewhat; however, the physical activity had shown him just how fragile his constitution was right now.

A lamp was suddenly lit in a second floor room. Jim stared toward it, seeing a shadow moving about. _Is it my imagination, my hopeful imagination? _The figure looked so much like Artemus. Was it… or just a misguided Englishman?

W*W*W*W*W

_Car c'est double plaisir de tromper le trompeur._

[It is double pleasure to deceive the deceiver.]

—_Fables (II, 15),_ Jean de la Fontaine (1621-1695), French fabulist

Arthur Farthing-Crosthwaite entered the dining room with his lovely wife Lillian on his arm, his traveling companion Francis Mayfield at the other side, and the servant Jagger following. Their host, Dr. Smith was already at the table, but he slipped off his chair as they entered, bowing slightly.

"Good morning. I trust you slept well. I apologize again for the misunderstanding concerning the rooms."

Arthur waved a dismissive hand. "No, indeed, Dr. Smith. We were quite at fault. I blame it on our frustration and exhaustion, but it's still no excuse. I apologize from the depth of my being, sir. If you will be so kind as to arrange transportation, we will depart immediately after breakfast."

Dr. Smith smiled widely. "That's very good of you, sir. But no, I insist you remain with us… Mr. Gordon."

Three men holding pistols appeared, two from the door that led to the kitchen, one from behind the quartet. Artemus thought about protesting a mistake was being made, but knew from the expression on Loveless's face that it would be useless. He reached up and jerked the full beard off his chin.

"Where's Jim?"

Loveless evinced surprise. "Why, he's dead. The newspapers had the story about his funeral. Didn't you read them?"

"I know that the casket contained bags of grain." Artie's hand found Lily's and held it tight. "Doctor, I'm sure you do not make war on women. Please allow Miss Fortune to leave."

"Miss Fortune! Lily Fortune? The famous actress?" Loveless moved nearer to peer at her. "Ah, no wonder I was momentarily deceived. I know of her talent. And the other gentlemen? Hmm, I think I recognize Mr. Pike now. But I don't believe the other gentleman and I have met."

Frank pulled off his glasses, bowed slightly. "Frank Harper, at your service, Doctor. I cannot exactly say it's an honor to meet you, but I have heard a great deal about you."

"Harper! Yes, of course. The gambler. I'm sorry we probably won't have an opportunity for a game, Mr. Harper. I pride myself on my ability with cards."

He was about to say more when heavy footsteps were heard in the hallway, and Boyd Manchester pushed by both the man with the gun and the prisoners, his eyes wide. "Doctor, he's gone!"

"Who's gone?" Loveless asked, staring. Then rage filled his countenance as comprehension returned. "He can't be gone! Search the room! Search the house!"

"I did. Voltaire is up there still searching. We looked all over. But he's gone. I think… I think he went out the window."

Artemus Gordon was unaware that he swayed slightly until Lily's hand caught his arm. Until this moment, he realized, he had not been entirely certain. Now he knew. _Jim's alive! Thank God! He's alive!_

Loveless was seething. "Find him! He can't have gone far! He's in no condition to go far. Make sure no horses have been taken! Get the men outside! Move!"

"Loveless," Artie said then, with more equanimity than he was feeling, "I ask you again. Allow Miss Fortune to go free. You have no quarrel with her."

The little man's face took on a sly expression. "That's true. I have no quarrel with Miss Fortune. Indeed, I feel honored that she's in my home. However, I cannot allow her to leave. Not yet. With the four of you here, Mr. West will have to return."

"What do you want with him?" Jeremy asked. "Why did you fake his death?"

"Very simple, Mr. Pike. I despise James West. He has been the literal thorn in my side for years now, he and Mr. Gordon. And yes, you helped them at one time, didn't you? As for Mr. Harper, well, carrying the same credentials as you poor honorable fools puts him in your same category as far as I'm concerned. So you are all in the same basket, so to speak. But about Mr. West, I plan to use him to further some long suppressed plans, plans that needed more information before I could go ahead. Mr. West will provide that information."

"He never will!" Artie burst out.

That sly smile continued. "You continually underestimate me, Mr. Gordon. You believed James West was dead, didn't you? You saw his lifeless body. Yet he is alive. I accomplished that feat. And I will turn James West into a traitor toward his country. At first, no one will know. Eventually, however, when I'm finished with him, I'll ensure that everyone learns. In fact, he will confess his traitorous actions. That will be my greatest revenge."

Artie did not respond the comments, knowing that at least part of what Loveless said was true. He _had_ seen and touched Jim's corpse. Finally, he asked, "What do you want with us?"

"I told you. Your presence will ensure that Mr. West returns to my custody. But tell me, how did you find me?"

"You were not that difficult to locate," Frank said. "We simply considered your usual habits."

Loveless glared. "That's ridiculous!"

"If you say so," Artie smiled.

Antoinette entered then to state that the entire second floor had been searched but Mr. West had not been found. Loveless ordered the four prisoners to be taken upstairs and confined to one room. "West's room," he stated. He also instructed a man to bring hammer and nails to ensure that the window could not be opened again.

W*W*W*W*W

The morning sun felt good. Jim had crept beyond the hedge during the night and found a small stream from which he was able to drink some water, but had not found food of any sort. The activity around the house indicated that his escape had been noted. He watched closely from a hiding place within some very thick bushes, but did not see any of yesterday's guests emerge. The reason could be that Loveless had simply told them some fabulous story, perhaps suggesting that their safety was endangered if they ventured out. Or he could have discovered that they were not British tourists.

He had gotten some sleep, curled up under the bushes, but not much. He had not expected his escape to be discovered until morning, but he had remained on the alert, dozing and coming awake at any slight sound. _Now I have to find out what's going on inside there. Is it Artie? If so, is he all right, or are my fears coming to pass, that Loveless realized what was going on when he had an opportunity to consider the situation?_

A man had emerged from the house and trotted toward the outer buildings a while ago. He had entered one structure that Jim had not been able to see from his vantage point at the room's window, apparently a bunkhouse. After a few minutes, he emerged with at least seven other men behind him. All were carrying weapons, as they spread out, heading for the other structures. Now those men had finished the search of the buildings and were clustered at the side of the main house, apparently discussing what to do next.

He knew they would soon search the surrounding area. The fact that the search was confined to the immediate area enhanced Jim's belief as to the identity of the so-called English visitors, though he still was not one hundred percent certain. Loveless would believe that he would not desert his friends… providing Jim West was aware his friends were on the premises. Were they?

His options were to either head further away… or try to get back into the house. He had been able to check the stables during the darkness of night and found them securely locked. At this point, the choice seemed clear. In the first place, in his physical condition he was not going to get far on foot, particularly without food or water. Beyond that, even if the "British tourists" were genuine, he could not leave them in Loveless's clutches. The little doctor could be ruthless at times, especially when angered. No doubt he was furious about now.

He was just about to attempt to circle to the other side of the house, away from the group of men who were still discussing—and perhaps arguing—about where to search next, when he saw movement at the window where he had been held prisoner. Several people were in that room, he was certain; he could see them milling about. Then one came to the window and pressed close to it, peering out.

_Well, that settles it._

W*W*W*W*W

What drink'st thou oft, instead of homage sweet, But poisoned flattery?

_The Life of King Henry the Fifth (King Henry at IV, i),_ William Shakespeare

Artemus Gordon gasped aloud. Behind him, Lily asked anxiously, "What is it?"

Artie turned from the window. "Jim. He's out there. I just saw him."

"Are you sure?" Jeremy asked, coming to the window. "Where?"

"He's gone. He was behind that brush to the right of the corral fence. He must have seen me here in the window. He stood up a little and waved, then headed behind the stables. Dang fool!"

"He must think he's going to help us," Frank said soberly. "I don't suppose he has a weapon."

"I don't see how he could have gotten one," Artemus growled. "But we'd better be ready for anything."

The room door opened suddenly and Voltaire filled up the space. "You, Gordon. The doctor wants you."

Lily clutched at Artemus's arm, and he patted her hand. "It's all right. I'm sure he just wants to talk."

As soon as he locked the bedroom door, Voltaire gripped Artie's shoulder with a hand like a vise and guided him down the hall to the stairs and then into a room Artemus had not yet seen, but was obviously the family music room, containing a magnificent grand piano, harp, and several other stringed instruments leaning against ornate racks, as well as some brass instruments on the walls. They all appeared polished and new, so Artie had to wonder if they were ever played or were simply for show. Just now, however, Antoinette was at the piano, idly playing a soft tune. Loveless was standing alongside the instrument and he turned as Voltaire led his prisoner in.

"Mr. Gordon! Always good to see you."

"Sorry I cannot return the compliment. What is it you want?"

"Just company, my friend. Just company. Please sit down." Loveless waved to a padded straight-backed chair while he toddled over to an upholstered loveseat and hopped up onto it. "I don't often have the opportunity to converse with a man whose intellect I admire. Read any good books lately?"

Artemus sat down on the indicated chair, crossing his legs. Voltaire positioned himself behind the chair. "Nothing that would interest you. How did you do it, Loveless? How did you cause Jim to appear lifeless? How did you spirit him out of the train? I'm sure you had something to do with the fever and pain he was experiencing."

"Always full of questions, Mr. Gordon. Just like a true scientist." Loveless leaned back and proceeded to explain the events in question, using more scientific terms than he had with James West. Artemus listened and tried to keep a noncommittal expression on his face, although he was truly astounded.

"Very interesting," Artemus said mildly as Loveless beamed proudly. "Usually your creations are connected to a plan to disrupt the nation, or even world conquest. How will these concoctions achieve that end?"

"I'm disappointed in you, Mr. Gordon. It's obvious, isn't it? Suppose a renowned scientist were to suddenly become ill and die? I could take him into my… er… employ, and never have to worry about the authorities searching for him. Of course," he hastened to add, "I don't need any assistance intellectually. But time is often a factor. A first class assistant, or several, would be of immense help."

Artemus met the direct gaze. "I'm not a scientist."

"But you are. Or could be. Hasn't it ever occurred to you, Mr. Gordon, what your life could be like if you used your brain in a more profitable manner than simply saving Mr. West's hide now and again… for little or no personal credit and pitiful financial remuneration?"

Artemus folded his arms. "You cannot expect me to believe that you would take my word, that you would simply accept me into your fold without questioning my motives."

Loveless chuckled. "No, of course not. I would of course expect Miss Fortune to remain as my guest."

"Your hostage." Artie's tone was sharp. "What about Pike and Harper, not to mention Jim West?"

"Again, their safety would depend on _you_, Mr. Gordon. I must admit this is an unexpected alteration of my plans. But I am always attuned to new opportunities. I can still carry through with the strategy where Mr. West is concerned. That should not concern you."

"Shouldn't it?" Artie asked coldly. "Remember, you don't have Jim in custody at the moment."

"A mere detail. He cannot go far. The treatments he received weakened him considerably, and his recovery was slow. I'm quite surprised he had the strength to escape, but then he is James West and we know he often overcomes handicaps. But even James West will soon experience weakness with overexertion. He's on foot, without food or water. No, it's a merely a matter of time before he's back in my custody."

"I presume you'll give me time to consider your 'generous offer.'"

"Assuredly! However, not too much time. As soon as West is retaken, we must move on. I am sure you are not the only ones who know about this place now."

W*W*W*W*W

"Jim, you look so tired!"

Jim West smiled wanly at the lovely woman who had just embraced him warmly then stepped back to gaze at him. "I am tired. But it's okay. Where's Artie?"

"Voltaire took him out of here," Frank said grimly. "Loveless wanted to talk to him. We don't know where."

"I heard Antoinette playing the piano and some voices inside a room downstairs," Jim recalled. "I didn't stop to try to figure out who it was."

He had managed to evade the searchers outside and enter through the back door. Edith Manchester had been working at the table, but he had been able to seize her, gag her with one hand while sedating her by use of the pressure point in her neck. He had not liked to do that, because as soon as her husband or anyone else found her, they would know he was in the house. No other way had been available to slip past her, however.

Encountering no one else as he made his way cautiously through the house, Jim had located the stairs and dashed up them. In the room directly across from this locked one, which he took to be Voltaire's room by the oversized clothing he saw, he found a steel nail file. He used it to pick the lock on the door of his former prison then opened the door to face three astounded people. Lily had been the first to move, rushing to give him a big hug.

Jeremy crossed over to the window, peering out. "Looks like the search is still going on. Any plans, Jim?"

"Not much. We need a couple of weapons, but I'm not sure where to find any. Nothing in Voltaire's room." The giant relied on his physical power rather than guns. "Any idea where Loveless's room is?"

"I don't think it's up here," Jeremy put in. "I think he and Antoinette have a suite downstairs somewhere. I posed as a servant, but I didn't have an opportunity to do much exploring. However, I saw Mrs. Manchester carry a tray down a hallway that's just beyond the stairs toward the rear of the house. I do know that the Manchesters' quarters are off the kitchen, near the room I was given, so it stands to reason she was taking a late snack to Loveless."

Jim grimaced. "If there are any weapons in the house, they would probably be in Loveless's room. Doesn't sound as though it's very accessible."

"Jim," Lily said, "there's a den. I caught a glimpse of it yesterday, in between the main parlor and the dining room. It looked like a 'man's room,' and may contain weapons."

Jim nodded. "Thanks. That would be right across the hall from where I heard the voices." He looked at the two fellow agents with an unspoken question.

"I can think of only one plan," Jeremy said quietly.

"I think we're on the same track," Jim replied, glancing at Frank Harper and seeing the agreement on the gambler's face.

"Just remember," Harper spoke somberly, "Voltaire is in there with Loveless."

W*W*W*W*W

"You are a very bright man, Mr. Gordon. I know you are right now attempting to think of a way you can appear to accept my terms and still plot an escape. It's not possible. I will keep your fellow agents in a separate location, one you will not know, of course. Their safety and survival will be in your hands. Who knows, one day you may realize that working at my side is what you were meant to do. Your intellect is being…"

Loveless stopped speaking as the door to the room suddenly burst open… and James West staggered in. He stopped and stared at the occupants of the room in obvious surprise, and for a long second, no one moved. Then simultaneously, as Loveless yelled, "Grab him!" Voltaire did so, stepping over to seize Jim's upper arms from behind.

Artemus came to his feet just as Loveless slipped off his chair. Jim looked confused, disoriented, as he stared around the room, his gaze finally settling on the nearest man. "Artie… is that you? What…?"

Artie stepped over, put his hands on Jim's shoulders. "Jim, are you all right?" He gazed into the green eyes, and wondered what he was seeing there. Just touching his partner seemed surreal, feeling the warmth through the rough fabric of the shirt he wore. _So different from when he lay on the table in the supposed doctor's home…_ Voltaire seemed to sense that Jim was not going to bolt, and released him, though he stayed close.

"I'm so tired, Artie," Jim sighed. "I tried… tried to get away…"

"You'll be just fine now, Mr. West." Loveless spoke solicitously. "Why don't you sit down over here…" He indicated the sofa he had just vacated. "Antoinette, fetch some water for Mr. West."

She had stopped playing the piano the moment Jim entered and come toward the men. "Can't I help…?" Her gaze was on the apparently dazed green-eyed man.

"Get some water," Loveless snapped.

Antoinette shot him a look, but complied. Jim allowed Artie to lead him to the indicated seat, with both Loveless and Voltaire hovering. _Wish I could clue Artie into what's going on. Too bad he sent Antoinette out. Hope she doesn't ruin things._

Artie dropped to one knee, gazing up at his friend. "Jim, talk to me. Are you all right?"

"I'm just weak and tired," Jim replied. "I thought I was strong enough…"

"I told you that you needed more time," Loveless said brusquely. "As soon as you have some refreshing water, Voltaire will take you back upstairs and Mrs. Manchester will bring you some nourishing food. Perhaps from now on you'll obey orders, eh?"

"Artie, why are you here?" Jim asked, leaning his head against the sofa's back as though unable to hold it upright.

Artemus got to his feet now, and leaned forward slightly. "Came to rescue you, pal. Looks like the good doctor has the upper hand now."

Jim sighed deeply, looking up at his partner. "Had to happen one day…"

"Of course it did," Loveless crowed. "One of my more brilliant ploys. Now I'm certain that my scheme is going to work even better than I anticipated. I have not only you, Mr. West, but agents Harper and Pike, _and_ the lovely Miss Fortune to keep everyone in line."

"Lily? Lily's here? Artie, why…?"

"Don't worry," Artemus said gently. "Everything is going to be all right." He saw Jim's glance flick toward the closed door. _I'm getting a good notion things aren't what they seem to be. Jim can tell me quite a bit with one glance at times. He's avoiding looking directly at Loveless, but I believe I'm reading his gaze correctly._ _He's not as beat as he's portraying. I'd better be ready for anything._

Jim tensed as he heard footsteps in the hall beyond the door. The knock on the door indicated that whoever was on the other side was not who he was expecting. Loveless called an annoyed, "Come in!" and then scowled even deeper when a man carrying a rifle appeared.

"Doctor, we can't find…" He stopped, gaping at the man sitting in the chair. "He's here?"

"He's here," Loveless snapped. "Go round up your useless men and get some work done!"

"Yes, sir!" The man backed out, still staring at Jim. Artemus would have laughed if the situation were not so serious. The poor fellow could not understand how Jim West slipped by him and his cronies. Obviously, he was not well acquainted with Jim's reputation. _Matter of fact, I'd like to hear the story myself!_

"Now," Loveless said when the door closed, "where were we?"

"I take him upstairs," Voltaire said, pointing to Jim.

"Oh, yes. Yes, of course. Do that. Take Mr. Gordon as well. You can manage both, I'm sure."

Voltaire grinned widely. "Sure."

Artie glanced at Jim, and saw the alarm in his partner's eyes. _I know what that means: stall!_ "Doctor, I thought we were going to talk about your plans, how I could fit in."

Before Loveless could respond, another interruption, this time Antoinette with the glass of water for Jim. Though irked, the doctor allowed her to carry it to Jim. He accepted it with a wan smile that elicited a warm glance from Antoinette and further irritation from Loveless who acidly suggested she should now go see what was delaying breakfast. Antoinette lifted her chin and marched out.

"Now, Mr. Gordon," Loveless said, "we may have to delay our discussion until later. Your friend's arrival has bollixed things up a bit. I must make sure that Mr. West is taken care of. His health is important to my plans."

"Well, it's important to me as well," Artie said. "What do you think went wrong? I discerned from your description of the treatments that you expected him to recover sooner than this."

"I did. A man in his superb physical condition prior to the injections should have had no problem recuperating his strength. The fellow I used as a test subject was not nearly as hale as Mr. West, and his health returned rapidly."

Artemus rubbed his chin. "Was he the same height and weight?"

"Hmm…" Loveless considered this a moment. "Mr. Gordon, you may have hit on it. The other man was not in the same fine condition, but he was also probably thirty or forty pounds heavier. I can't believe it." The little man began to pace around the room. "I cannot believe that I made such an error! Mr. Gordon, you see why I need a man like you at my side?"

"Oh, it's an easy mistake to make, Doctor. It's like the time I manufactured some sleeping gas and…"

Jim rested his head back against the chair again, closing his eyes, knowing that if he did not, he might start grinning. Artie was putting on a great act, pretending intense interest in the doctor's methods, massaging Loveless's massive ego. Voltaire was shifting around restlessly, awaiting the command to take one or both men back upstairs. Beyond the conversation and the shuffling noise of the big man's feet, Jim was certain he heard sounds outside the door. _It had better be the guys and Lily. We can't stall very much longer._

The door opened in the midst of Loveless's exposition about scientific method and the need to keep copious notes, with which Artie was solemnly nodding and agreeing. Jim tensed, then came to his feet as Harper and Pike entered, holding weapons, Lily right behind them. Frank had a big-game rifle while Jeremy's appeared to be a matching set of dueling pistols, weapons for show and display, probably, but apparently useable or they would not have chosen them.

"Just stand quiet, doctor." Artemus moved over beside Harper, taking one of Jeremy's pistols. "You too, Voltaire, unless you want the doctor to be hurt."

Jim was not nearly as weak as he had been portraying, but was still not at full strength. The few minutes relaxing in the chair while feigning weakness had helped allay his fatigue. "Are those the only weapons you could find?"

Jer flashed a grin. "Unless you want what is apparently a Maori poison dart tube."

"We'd better get out of here," Frank put in. "We can take Loveless as a hostage—turn the tables so to speak."

The little doctor was fuming, his face contorted with rage and highly colored. "You won't get away with this… will they, my dear?" His tone and expression altered drastically as his eyes focused on a point behind Lily Fortune.

Before anyone could turn, Antoinette's icy voice was heard. "Drop your weapons, gentlemen. This shotgun has a wide scatter."

She was indeed standing in the hallway outside the door, holding a double-barreled shotgun. Lily was directly in the path, should the pellets be expelled. The agents had no choice but to place their own weapons on the floor. Loveless immediately took the shotgun from Antoinette then sent her to bring back several of the men who were working outside.

"Tell them to bring rope, my dear. I think the time for charity and gentle treatment has ended."

"Loveless," Artemus growled, "you cannot be thinking of harming Miss Fortune."

"Of course not! Do you think I'm a monster? No, Miss Fortune shall be my guest. She will behave herself, knowing that your safety depends upon her." Loveless blue eyes turned steely. "Just as you gentlemen will remember that _her_ well-being depends upon you."

Frank spoke up then. "You'd better keep in mind that our superiors know exactly where we are."

"Certainly. That is a given, Mr. Harper. And that's why we shall be departing post haste. As soon as you gentlemen are secure, the packing will begin. I have a great deal in my laboratory that must be taken along. I cannot leave my research behind. Which reminds me." Loveless shifted his gaze to West and Gordon, standing side by side with Voltaire right behind them.

"Mr. Gordon," Loveless went on, "our little conversation just now emphasized to me how much I need an erudite assistant such as yourself, one that I can count on to ensure that I do not omit steps. Not that I ever make mistakes, of course; it's simply good scientific practice. Having both you and Mr. West at my beck and call will hasten the process."

"You can't expect me to willingly assist you!" Artemus shot back. He could hear voices from somewhere in the rear of the house. Antoinette was returning with reinforcements. _Yet Loveless is holding that weapon pointed directly at Lily. We can't act._

"Perhaps not, perhaps not even if Miss Fortune's safety is at stake. I'm quite aware of your so-called ethics and patriotism. I'm sure that even Miss Fortune would willingly sacrifice her life for what she considers the common good, misguided as that notion is. But you see, we won't even need to take your scruples into account. Once I begin the treatment on you—as well as Mr. West—you will assist me eagerly. I won't need to change your features, because as far as the world is concerned, you are alive. You can help me in the laboratory, and at the same time be my inside source regarding government policy and action. You'll be able to administer drugs or poison at will, with no hint of suspicion falling your way. Gentlemen! Tie the four men securely. If any escape, you will pay the penalty."

He spoke to six men who appeared in the hallway, guns in one hand and lengths of rope in the other. Loveless continued his discourse as the wrists of the four agents were being bound behind their backs.

"Our conversation just now, Mr. Gordon, convinced me that I acted hastily. To be sure, Mr. West was attempting to deceive me by behaving as if he was not recovering from the first two treatments he had been given. I can see now he is well on the way to his usual excellent health. But the third treatment is far more complicated. I have thus far completed two trials, successfully of course, but I think I should conduct one or two more. Mr. Harper and Mr. Pike should be excellent subjects. Also, while it would be grand to have them participate in the fullness of my scheme, the loss of either of them would not be a complication."

"Loveless!" Jim raged. "You can't use human beings as guinea pigs!"

The big blue eyes turned his direction. "I don't see why not. After all, in the end, my experiments are for the betterment of the race. Over the years, you have foiled me too many times, Mr. West. The world would have been a much better place by now had you not interfered. So this time, I am ensuring your participation, rather than your opposition. Take the men into the dining room and bind them to chairs for now. Antoinette, perhaps you and Mrs. Manchester can see to Miss Fortune's comfort."

W*W*W*W*W

"We might have to depend on Dufour's help now," Artemus said in a low voice once the four men were alone. They had been tied to the stiff-backed chairs, and then two chairs secured back to back. Neither man could reach the knots of the one behind him due to the fact that their wrists were inside the chair backs. Loveless gleefully arranged this, saying that he was aware of the agility of agents and that they would undoubtedly attempt to free each other in that manner otherwise.

"Who's Dufour?" Jim asked. He could not remember a Secret Service agent of that name.

"Local sheriff," Frank replied behind him. The two had been paired off, as had Artemus and Jeremy. "He's in on this. We left him some instructions and hopefully he'll follow up on them."

"I don't like that Lily is being kept separate," Artie fretted.

No one spoke for a long moment then Jim asked, "How in the world did you realize that I wasn't dead after all?"

Artemus told him how the rabbit had startled the horses and caused the casket to be dropped. "If it hadn't been for that… well, I'd probably be in Washington handing in my resignation."

"Are you saying you'd miss me, Artie?" Jim teased.

"Let's just say I wouldn't miss losing half my pay to you every month."

Jim laughed softly, quite aware of what his partner was _not_ saying. "What's this sheriff supposed to do?"

"Notify Fort Laramie," Jeremy said. "We contacted the commanding officer before we set out and he'll have a squad ready to move as soon as he gets the word. Dufour is watching this place. We arranged a series of signals, but if he doesn't see any of us signaling him from a window as we arranged, he'll get the military involved."

"Trouble is," Artemus said slowly, "that signal would be given tonight. We told Dufour to just stand by, expecting that we would either carry through our masquerade until tonight, or get out of here if we decided you were not present. Miguelito can inflict quite a bit of damage in the next twelve hours or so."

"Then it behooves us to get loose," Jim stated. "Any ideas? Afraid I don't have any weapons, let alone my knives."

"I have gas pellets and explosive in my coat buttons," Artie said sourly, "both of which are pretty unreachable at the moment." They had not been useable in the music room either, due to the closeness of the quarters.

"Jim," Frank said, "there's a small sharp blade inside the tail of my coat. I'm not sure if you can…"

"Let me try."

W*W*W*W*W

Lily Fortune glared at the two women who were blithely "preparing her room," even to the point that Mrs. Manchester had brought in a vase of flowers to place on the bureau. "Do you really think that helps make things more pleasant?"

"Flowers always help," Antoinette smiled sweetly. "Miguelito loves beautiful things near him, and I have to agree. Flowers are among the loveliest of God's creations."

"How can you even mention Loveless and lovely flowers in the same breath? He's a monster!"

The slender woman was unperturbed. "You say that only because you don't know him, Miss Fortune. I know him so well. He's the most wonderful man in the world."

Lily clamped her mouth shut, aware that she was not going to get anywhere. Artemus had told her about Antoinette's devotion to the strange little man, suggesting that Antoinette might well be as insane, or perhaps more so, than the doctor. "She countenances what he does, participates, applauds him… he can do no wrong in her eyes," Artie had said.

This room was not the one she and the two agents had been in a short while ago, the one from which Jim escaped, nor the room that had been her quarters overnight. A smaller room, it had one window that also overlooked the front of the house. _The advantage there is that I might be able to signal Sheriff Dufour—if given the opportunity. She knew what the "everything is all right" and "come quick" signals were._ Problem was, Dufour might not be expecting the warning sign until nightfall.

"Will you need anything else, Miss?" Mrs. Manchester inquired politely. She had just finished transferring Lily's clothes and other items from the previous room.

Lily just stared at her for a moment. The woman had said almost the same thing last night to Mrs. Farthing-Crosthwaite when they finally got the rooms straightened out. Surely she realized the situation had changed drastically. "Yes," Lily said then. "You can escort me to the stables and arrange for me to have a horse so that I can go get help for my fiancé and his friends!"

Antoinette giggled. "Oh, Miss Fortune, you do have a sense of humor. Did I tell you I saw you on stage in Seattle? Miguelito was so jealous that he could not attend. I'm afraid he rather stands out in a crowd, don't you think? But I admired your talent very much."

Again, Lily could only look at the woman in silence. Both Antoinette and the servant were behaving as if they were welcoming a treasured guest, someone who wanted to be there, who would have freedom of the house. _Perhaps later I can take advantage of their attitude, but right now I want them both to leave._

As soon as the pair did—and Lily heard the firm turn of the key in the lock on the closed door—she hurried to the window. First she peered out for a long while, inspecting as much as she could of the grounds within view. A high hedge surrounded the property on this side, but beyond it were a number of rolling hills, several with considerable height. Sheriff Dufour had planned to station himself with a couple of deputies on those hilltops.

Finally, reasonably certain that no one was in the landscaped garden below, Lily grasped the ring of the window's shade and slowly pulled it down. She then began to let it roll up again in measured stages.

W*W*W*W*W

_Semper in fide quid senseris, non quid dixeris, cogitandum._

[In honorable dealing you should consider what you intended, not what you said or thought.]

—_De Officiis (I, 13)_, Cicero (Marcus Tullius Cicero; 106 BC-43 BC)

"Jim! Your hands!" Artie's voice was a hiss as his partner stepped over to the chairs where Artemus and Jeremy were still bound.

Jim glanced down at his freely bleeding fingers. Frank had helped as much as he could, twisting and pressing his body back against the slats of the chair, but Jim had felt the sting of the small blade as he maneuvered it out of the lining of the coast. He then managed to cut the ropes that confined Frank to the chair. Once Frank was able to move free, he had positioned himself where Jim could slice the bindings on his wrists. Frank then used the blade to cut Jim loose before handing the blade back and going to the closed door to press his ear against it.

"I'm okay," Jim responded. "Just nicks." He wiped his fingers on his pants legs, noticed that the multiple cuts were still flowing. "No time to worry about it now." Glancing down, he saw the spots of blood on the fine carpet. _Mrs. Phipps isn't going to like that much!_

Artemus kept his mouth shut, knowing the truth of it. He was certain at least a couple of the "nicks" were fairly deep. He had watched Jim while he manipulated the blade, especially when he was attempting to free the little sharp knife from inside Frank's coat. Artemus had been sure the winces he had noticed in Jim's expression at the time were due to something more than a mere nick. However, Jim was right. They needed to move fast, having no knowledge of when and if any of their captors would return to the room. An hour or more had elapsed since they had been imprisoned in the dining room.

Frank walked softly back from the door. "I'm pretty sure someone is stationed outside. Heard a cough."

"At least now," Artie said quietly as he stood up, hands free, "I can use these." He wrenched off the two bottom buttons from his cutaway coat. "One of each."

Jeremy had gone over to one of the windows. "Can't see anyone out there, but these windows don't appear to open easily either."

"We need to get the guard in here," Jim stated, "and then bust out..."

Artemus was alarmed. "Don't forget Lily!"

"Let me finish, pal," Jim smiled. "Bust out of here and get Lily and some weapons. The guard probably has at least one gun on him, maybe two. Artie?" He jerked his head at his partner and they moved to either side of the door. Artemus held his gas pellet; the explosive could not be used yet. Then Jim nodded toward the other two agents, who knew what to do without being told.

Each knocked over a chair and made some noises as though they had fallen to the floor. The door burst open almost instantly. The burly man who stepped inside halted, obviously not seeing what he expected to see, not comprehending what was happening. Artemus immediately shoved the man forward, then threw the gas pellet on the floor as near to his head as possible. He and Jim dashed out into the hall, Harper and Pike following, pulling the door tightly shut.

They heard some coughing inside, and for a few seconds, the door handles were jerked against the secure hold the two agents were providing. Then the sound of a large thud and all was quiet. Holding his sleeve over his nose, Jim pushed the door open against the bulk of the man on the floor, grabbed both the pistol from his belt and the rifle he had been holding, then stepped back and closed the door again. He handed the rifle to Pike.

No one bothered to check the den again, aware that the dueling pistols and big game rifle they had procured earlier—and lost—had been the only useful weapons in that room. Jeremy had commented that it appeared Mr. Phipps was in the process of building a collection of weapons. "No doubt he'll bring some new trophies home from the Grand Tour."

The four men moved as cautiously and silently as possible toward the staircase, keeping the two guns at the ready. Artemus gave Frank one each of his gaseous and explosive buttons, making sure he knew which was which. The color of the shank of the button was the indicator. Pausing at the base of the stairs, they listened for a long moment. No sounds whatsoever were heard.

"Wish we knew where Loveless's lab is," Artie whispered. That had been the one fact they had not been able to discover yet. Even Jeremy, who had had more free rein in the house as a servant, had not been able to discover its location. They knew that the doctor had retreated to his laboratory to pack his precious materials, and quite possibly to prepare injections that would immobilize his prisoners during a move to the new location he had planned.

They crept up the staircase, single file, with Jim in the lead. When he neared the top landing, he motioned for them to halt, while he carefully peered toward the upper floor. No one was in sight. _I'm not sure if that's good or bad! Thought they'd have a guard outside Lily's door._ The four men continued upwards, still seeing no one.

Several doors, as they had been previously, were open or ajar. After a glance inside each, those were ignored as the men went to the closed doors, tapped on them softly. Frank discovered the right one when he heard an answering tap, and waved the others to him. Jim still had the blade in his trouser pocket, and he knelt to use it in the lock. Not as efficient as a picklock, but eventually it worked, even if he did slice his forefinger again. He saw Artemus's scowl as he wiped the newly bleeding finger on his shirt.

But the door opened. Artie momentarily embraced his sweetheart, then grasped her hand and whispered to her. "We're going out the front door, figuring the guards are out back."

"I've been looking out the front," she concurred, "and did not see anyone. But transportation…"

"Our feet for the moment," Jim whispered back.

"Jim," Frank reminded, "the guns." They had earlier discussed the fact that other weapons were secured in the false bottoms of their trunks, which were stowed in the dressing rooms connected to the bedrooms they had slept in last night.

Jim and Jeremy stood guard while the other three hurried to their previous quarters. Within minutes, they returned with the secreted weapons, small pistols that would not have created much weight in the trunks that might have been noticed. But they were weapons, and badly needed.

"Jim," Artie whispered as they prepared to descend the stairs again, "Lily signaled Dufour. Or at least she tried to. She thinks she saw a mirror flash as a response, but is not absolutely certain."

Jim did not reply, knowing that his partner was as aware as he was that they had to rely on themselves and not count on the sheriff or the army at this moment. Even if it had been Dufour out there, time would be needed to get the army here from Fort Laramie; not enough time had elapsed from the moment Lily had been taken upstairs.

Artemus had a notion that his companions were doing the same as he was while descending the stairs: holding his breath. The house was too quiet for his comfort. They had speculated that Loveless's laboratory was probably in the cellar, if not in an outer building, but where were Antoinette and the two servants? _I don't like that Loveless stationed the solitary guard outside our door, and that's that. Why no guard on Lily's room? Because he considers women helpless? Loveless should know better by now!_

As if in confirmation of Artie's thoughts, Jeremy breathed, "It's too easy."

Jim just nodded grimly, exchanging a glance with Artemus as they reached the front door. He knew he did not have to warn his companions to be ready for anything.

They opened the front door a few inches and peered out. The house sat on a slight rise, so that the porch was almost at the same level as the decorative hedges at the perimeter. Again, nothing and no one was in sight. _This isn't right. _Jim held his pistol at the ready as they edged out onto the porch. "We might try for some horses," he murmured, glancing over the distant landscape beyond the hedges. "Artie…" he began.

Artemus was moving rapidly ahead, merely nodding as Jim spoke his name, gripping his gun in one hand, Lily's hand in his other as he led her across the porch and down the stairs. _Where is everyone? Something is up…_

The worrisome thoughts were proved correct an instant later as men bearing weapons suddenly appeared from behind either house corner, moving rapidly to form a half circle around the escapees. A full dozen all armed. Artemus had not been aware that that many men were on the premises. Then behind them, Loveless giggled.

Jim turned slowly, and spoke calmly. "Nice game, doctor."

Loveless's grin was broad, but his eyes were icy blue. "I thought you might enjoy it, Mr. West. I also thought it would provide a good lesson to you. You cannot escape. I will anticipate your every move. I did not know exactly how you would manage, but I know your resourcefulness would come into play." Antoinette and Voltaire were standing on either side of him, Antoinette smiling sweetly and the giant glowering. "Now I suggest you place your weapons on the ground. They are useless anyway."

Surprised, the four agents looked closely at the guns they held. Jeremy threw his pistol down in anger and disgust. "The firing pins have been filed off!"

"Exactly," the doctor smirked. "We found the guns in your trunks and disabled them. And the ones you took from the guard were disabled as well."

Jim let his pistol slip from his hand. "What now?"

"Now we are back to where we were," Loveless stated. "I hope you are wiser for your troubles. Oh, look at your poor hand, Mr. West!"

Jim faced him, gazing up onto the porch. "Loveless, let them go. The original plan involved only me." _I've got to stall for time. Just in case…_

"Jim," Artie spoke softly, warningly. Jim kept his eyes on the little doctor.

"True, it did, didn't it?" Loveless assumed a thoughtful pose, holding his elbow with one hand while the forefinger of the other hand tapped against his chin. "I must admit the arrival of Mr. Gordon and his friends complicated matters. Even provided me some new ideas. The thought of Mr. Gordon's intellect complementing mine is tempting."

Now Artemus stepped over and touched his hand to his partner's arm, aware of the way the two men's gaze were fastened on each other. Almost as though each was sending and receiving unheard message. He was pretty certain he was hearing the same message. "Jim, stop it."

Again Jim ignored his partner. "What now, Doctor?" he said again.

Loveless moved forward to the top of the stairs, and was thus slightly elevated in height over the men on the ground below. He obviously enjoyed looking down upon the taller men. "Suppose I made an offer, Mr. West? Suppose I offered to allow your companions to safely depart if you gave me your word you would remain with me and never attempt to escape again. That you'll submit to the treatments I have planned."

Now Artemus grabbed Jim's arm and jerked him around to face him. "Jim! No! Don't even consider it."

"Artemus is right," Jeremy said. "You can't…"

Jim gazed at his partner a long moment, green eyes holding brown, and then he glanced at the others. "I have to. We're unarmed and outnumbered. We can't risk Lily's safety." _I must have been wrong. _

"Oh, Jim!" Lily rushed forward and gripped Jim's arms with both her hands. "Jim, please!" She knew what the other three men knew, that if James West gave his word, he would keep it, even if it cost him his own life.

"How touching," Loveless smirked. "You have devoted friends, Mr. West. I trust you are not going to repay that devotion by allowing harm of any sort to come to them."

Jim gently disengaged Lily's hands, gripping one tightly for a moment. "Take care of Artie," he said softly then turned back toward the porch. "Are you willing to give your word in return?"

Artie tried once again, seizing Jim's arm. "Jim, no! I won't allow it! No!"

Jim ignored him, waiting for Loveless. The little man was savoring every moment, and drawing it out. "My _word_, Mr. West? You'd take _my_ word?"

"I guess I'd have to, wouldn't I? I know you have a code of your own. You give me your word that my friends will be taken away from here and released safely, and you'll have mine."

"Jim!" Artie raged, once more spinning Jim around to face him. "I said no! You can't do this!"

"It's all right, Artie. It's all right." Jim spoke quietly. _Though maybe not as "all right" as I thought it would be a few minutes ago. But I have no choice._

That very serenity in his partner caused Artemus's temper to rise further. "Jim! You're not that much a fool! I just got you back! I'm not going to lose you again, not like this! Damn you!"

Jim West smiled, hoping to hide the knot that was in his stomach. He could see the tears welling in his partner's eyes. "Artie, it's going to be all right."

"You have my word, Mr. West," Loveless purred. "Mr. Harper, Mr. Pike, Mr. Gordon, and Miss Fortune will be conveyed some miles from here, and released safely. By the time they are able to amass any help to come back here, we'll be long gone. You know I have a knack for escaping."

"Yes, I know," Jim gritted. "All right. You have my oath. I will not attempt to leave again." He felt his partner standing behind him; he felt the emotions that Artemus was experiencing. _But it's the only way, partner. We can't defeat a dozen guns. Not unarmed and alone._ He wished he dared look toward the outer area again. All attention here was on the drama playing out.

Artemus Gordon knew he had never felt so angry, so frustrated, so defeated in his life. _The damnable thing is, I know if would do the same if Loveless had made the offer to me. But…_ He felt Lily's hand slip into his and it was all he could do to prevent himself from turning to wrap his arms around her, as he had done that awful morning at the train.

Frank Harper and Jeremy Pike stood back, watching the scene. Both were aware of the closeness of West and Gordon. They had worked with both men at various times over the years. Both were also aware that if Artemus could not talk Jim out of this, they had no chance, just as they had no chance to escape with so many guns pointing toward them.

_We'll find you, Jim._ The pair unknowingly had the same thoughts. Jim West might not go back on his word and attempt to escape, but that would not stop his friends from trying to rescue him. Artemus would be leading the hunt. Jeremy Pike found himself experiencing strong emotions, recalling the days he had spent with Jim West while Artemus was on special duty in Washington. He had come to more fully understand the specialness of this agent during the constant daily contact with him.

He also knew the brotherly affection that existed between West and Gordon. Jim had performed efficiently when other agents were assigned to work with him during Gordon's absence, but Jeremy was quite aware that things were not quite the same. No one had that synchronization, that symbiotic bond with West as Artemus Gordon did. With West gone, Artemus might…

Jeremy cut off his thoughts, knowing they were fruitless at this point. He drew in a long breath and slowly exhaled in an attempt to settle his emotions, and momentarily allowed his glance to stray off to one side, beyond the ring of guards. _Oh my God!_

"Mr. West," Loveless was saying. "Come up here. Voltaire will be your escort to the laboratory. While it's still a bit too early to begin administering the next serum, I think it wise to sedate you for the time being. I do know that your health is better than you have been trying to portray, and I can begin some tests as soon as we are settled in our new center of operations."

Jim shook his head. "I want to see my companions on their way out of this place first."

Loveless opened his mouth, clamped it shut, blue eyes flashing. "Oh, very well! Thompson, Guerin, go get a wagon. They'll have to leave without all the paraphernalia they brought as English tourists. But of course can return for them later after we've departed."

"Miss Fortune will especially want them back," Jim said mildly. "They belong to her troupe. You'll see that they are well cared for."

"Bah! We won't even touch them!"

Jim nodded, then calmly turned toward the actress. "Lily, is there anything you need to take along right now? Perhaps Antoinette can help you…"

Artemus Gordon stared at his friend. _Jim's acting as though we're parting temporarily, as if on a pleasure jaunt! Something's not…_ Realization struck him at the same moment as Jeremy casually moved closer behind him and placed his hand on Artemus's shoulder, patting gently.

"Things will be all right, Artemus. Jim knows this is for the best," Pike said softly, while continuing the patting.

"Miss Fortune can do very well without her fans and brooches and whatever," Loveless barked.

"Really, Loveless," Jim snapped back, "I thought you were more of a gentleman than that!" He turned around to look at the actress, and his glance casually swept over the three men, as well as the landscape behind the arc of armed men. The relief he experienced was difficult to disguise. He did catch Artie's eye and realized that finally his partner was coming to comprehend. "Lily?"

"Oh… I would like to have my pocketbook," she said. "If it's not too much trouble. I have some… personal items in it." _I know something is going on, but I don't know what it is. Jim would never bother with such trivial things otherwise._

Loveless exhaled a huge and noisy breath. "Oh, very well. Where's Mrs. Manchester? She can run the errand."

"Here I am, sir," the woman said, stepping out through the door. She was plainly agitated. "What is it you wish?"

"Go up to the room Miss Fortune occupied and find her handbag. Hurry!"

In that moment, with all attention in front of the house focused on the minor drama occurring, an authoritative voice yelled a command. "Drop your weapons! All of you! Don't move! You are surrounded!"

Consternation and confusion reigned for a few moments. Loveless froze, gaping at the several dozen troopers who were appearing, as it seemed, out of nowhere, from behind the hedge as well as from the same directions Loveless's men had originally arisen, the sides of the house. Even the five captives were startled with the suddenness, including those who had had an inkling of what was occurring beyond the perimeters of the grounds.

Jim looked around and saw that Loveless's minions were starting to reluctantly give up their weapons in the face of a stronger force. He was turning back again just as Artie yelled, "Jim! Loveless!" when he saw the front door closing. He leapt up onto the porch, but found the door already locked.

Four strong shoulders were required to burst the heavy oaken door open, with precious time being lost. Jim had yelled at the lieutenant to send men around back to prevent an escape in that direction, even while in his heart he knew it was too late. Miguelito Loveless had an uncanny ability to evade capture, and Jim West knew it had happened again.

During the days following, Artie commented ruefully that Dr. Loveless "must be a mole. He's got tunnels all over this country to escape through, and will pop up again where least expected. That has to be the explanation." A thorough search of house and grounds did not reveal the escape route, though they did find Loveless's laboratory in a cellar room—with all the chemicals and other equipment smashed thoroughly, and no notes or journals to be found.

"Wouldn't have taken Voltaire long to do this," Frank muttered as he surveyed the damage.

For Loveless, Antoinette, and Voltaire had vanished completely. Even though the army and the sheriff's posse blanketed the countryside, spreading word and posting flyers, the trio was not seen again. The Manchesters were eventually picked up in northern Wyoming, but they swore they had no idea of the current location of Loveless and his companions. On that subject and one other, they remained mum, and that was how the escape was accomplished. Nothing could loosen their tongues, neither threats of longer incarceration nor promises of leniency.

Jim had only sighed. "Loveless has that effect on people sometimes."

Eventually it came to light that Boyd Manchester had indeed been a physician in an eastern state, but had fled when he became involved in a scandal concerning the deaths of patients who had large life insurance policies and heirs who were too anxious to receive their bounty. He had apparently escaped west with his wife, but no information was forthcoming on how they had hooked up with the maniacal little doctor.

W*W*W*W*W

Honest men esteem and value nothing so much in this world as a real friend.

Such a one is, as it were, another self.

—Bidpai (Pilpay), Brahmin gymnosophist (several centuries before Christ)

Only when certain all possible was being done to run the little man to earth did Jim West consent to his partner's nagging to allow a physician to examine him. That doctor pronounced the agent in fine health, if a bit rundown. Some relaxation and good food was the only prescription he offered.

Frank Harper had to report for assignment in Denver, and he offered to escort Lily Fortune to that city to rejoin her acting company, along with the borrowed gems and trunks of theater clothing. Artemus hated to see Lily go, but was extremely grateful she had been there for him, despite the perils that ensued. He articulated and showed her his gratitude in the few solitary moments they managed to find in the turmoil that followed Loveless's escape.

Jeremy Pike remained in Wyoming until summoned to San Francisco for another assignment. Jim and Artemus expressed their deep appreciation to Sheriff Dufour, who was surprised to learn that as he had remembered the young captain in the Shenandoah, the now agent also recalled his encounter with a courageous sergeant during a perilous situation in Virginia. Jim promised that the next time he was in the area with time to spare—"but don't count on it to happen soon!"—he would call on Dufour so they could spend more time reminiscing.

Dufour, and the authorities at Fort Laramie, revealed that the sheriff used his own initiative in summoning the army before receiving a signal from inside the house, so that they were actually on hand at the crucial moment. "The more I thought about it, the more sense it made," Dufour explained, rather abashed by the attention paid to his foresight. Artemus admitted that he himself had probably made a mistake in not arranging for that in the first place. "Things were pretty hectic," he said.

Almost every day a telegraph message had arrived from Washington demanding to know when the two agents would be there to fill in both President Grant and Colonel Richmond on why they had been sent into the throes of deep grief only to learn soon afterwards that mourning was not necessary, at least at that moment. Artie had kept both officials updated regarding the broken casket, and obtained Washington's assistance in perpetuating the ruse with the newspaper articles.

When Artemus had informed Matthew West of the possibility that his brother was still alive, Matthew decided to bring his family to Washington anyway, either to be there to greet Jim… or to bury him. Artemus knew a happy reunion was in store.

As well, Artemus had not been at all surprised to learn that his partner had picked up on the small error in the newspaper articles. Care had been taken to describe the funeral cortege, relating that the deceased hero's spirited black horse had been led behind the caisson bearing the casket, with an empty saddle, while a rider was mounted on one of the right-hand steeds drawing the vehicle in the procession. True protocol would have the rider on the left-hand horse. Jim was aware that Artemus Gordon would never allow such an error to occur, even in the unlikely event that the Army made a mistake.

Finally, well over a week after Loveless's disappearance, West and Gordon decided they had done all they could do in Wyoming, and the Wanderer headed east. Jim was relaxing on the sofa in the varnish car, reading a book, when his partner entered. Jim barely glanced up then looked again, seeing the very serious, somber expression on Artie's face.

"What's wrong?"

Artie tossed the towel he had been drying his hands with back through the door. He had just prepared a chicken and put it into the oven. _I've got to do this and I can't allow him to sidetrack me as he often does when such topics come up. _"Jim, I want to apologize."

The baffled expression on his partner's face appeared genuine. "Apologize? For what?"

Artemus moved a few steps closer, gripping the back of a chair at the table. "For cursing you."

That puzzlement remained a moment longer, then Jim smiled, shaking his head. "It was nothing. Heat of the moment." He dropped his gaze to the page of his book.

Artie moved the chair slightly, than sat on it, leaning his elbows on his knees, peering at his partner. "You knew, didn't you, that the army was out there?"

Jim didn't look up. "I saw something just as we came out the door. I was about to tell you when Loveless appeared. Then I couldn't. Jeremy spotted them later."

"I know. He tapped it on my shoulder. Wasn't until then that I knew everything you were doing was just a ruse."

Now Jim glanced up a moment. "Sorry if I upset you." He resumed reading. Or at least his eyes were on the book. Artie had a suspicion that Jim wasn't really seeing the words on the page; he was hoping that he could dissuade Artemus from going any further with this. _Not this time, pal!_

"I don't think I ever really understood," Artie said softly.

Again that bewilderment returned as Jim lowered the book slightly and looked at Artemus. "Understood what?"

"How you felt in Tohachi and Fort Challenge."

Casually Jim put the book aside and got to his feet, stretching. "That was a long time ago. I think I'll go brush Blackjack. He's been neglected lately."

"Sit down!"

Jim West gaped at his partner; he saw the anger and determination on Artie's face. Slowly he resumed his place. "What's the matter with you?"

"I just feel we have to talk, Jim. Listen to me. When I entered that… that fake doctor's house and found you, your body, on that table, covered with a sheet… when I touched your clammy skin and I _knew_ you were dead… I cannot begin to describe how I felt. At least you had the Pistoleros to chase down. I had nothing. You were dead and I knew it was my fault."

"Your fault! Why? What makes you say that?"

"Because I rode away and left you, Jim. I left you alone on the train."

"Artie, the boys were here. If you had stayed the same thing…"

"Maybe. Who knows? But at the time, all I could think of was that I had left you alone in your time of need. I didn't have your back. That's what I'm here for, you know. To have your back."

"That's not the only reason," Jim said with a wry smile, eyes warm. "Who'd cook my breakfast and make the best coffee in the world?"

Artie sighed. The man would never change. "I wasn't going to let you, you know."

Again Jim was perplexed. "Let me what?"

"Go with Loveless. I would have stopped you somehow… or gone with you… or died trying." Artie shook his head and went on before Jim could say anything. "How many times has one of us thought the other had died? I think of New Orleans. I didn't have time to grieve because I was too intent on proving you had not died a traitor."

"At least you didn't live with the memory of killing me," Jim said softly, his eyes shadowed.

"No. That one time, in Paradox, when I thought I had shot you… it didn't last long." _Seconds._ Artemus knew he would never ever forget the pain of those few seconds. "But I understand, Jim." He knew Jim was referring to one other time Loveless had drugged him. Jim had experienced a hallucination in which he shot down his partner in cold blood. The memory remained vivid and real until Artie appeared, living and well.

"All I know, Jim," Artemus said, getting to his feet, "is that I don't want to experience that again. Not for a long, long time, anyway. I wanted to make sure you understood that I wasn't really cursing you. I was cursing Loveless… and myself for being so helpless at that moment."

"Artie, I never gave it a second thought."

_I bet you didn't._ "Stand up."

Jim's brow furrowed. "Why?"

"Just stand up. We have some unfinished business, and I'm not going to feel right until it's taken care of."

Completely bewildered Jim West put his book aside and slowly rose to his feet. He almost flinched as his partner took a step toward him, a determined expression on his face. Than Artemus wrapped his arms around him in a huge, warm bear hug.

"I wanted to do this at Loveless's place when I first saw you alive, Jim. Even though I knew by then that you were not dead, I just… needed to find out if you were real."

Jim started laughing then, wrapping his own arms around his partner's sturdier girth. "All right, buddy. Now I suppose you want me to confess I wanted to hug you that night at Galiano's hacienda."

"Didn't you?" Artie stepped back then, grinning widely.

"In front of witnesses?"

Artie laughed, punched his partner lightly on the upper arm. "Go back your book. I've got to finish getting supper ready. Nice healthy food for you, so you'll be strong to face General Grant in a couple of days."

Jim sighed, sinking back onto the sofa. "That might be harder than facing Loveless!" They both knew that the President was going to pump them for every detail of the recent events. He would not be satisfied with a written report.

With a wave, continuing to grin, feeling a weight had been lifted from his shoulders and heart, Artie retreated through the door to the galley. Jim picked up his book, stared at it for a long while before he realized he was holding it upside down. He glanced up toward the closed door, and then quickly and carefully used his fingers to brush near his eyes.

_**[I just want to say, thanks, Scooter, for pointing me in the direction of this work by Kipling, and Spotted Pony for finding the complete poem; the absolutely perfect poem for James West and Artemus Gordon, even if Kipling never heard of them.]**_

**The Thousandth Man**

by Rudyard Kipling

_One man in a thousand, Solomon says,_

_Will stick more close than a brother._

_And it's worth while seeking him half your days_

_If you find him before the other._

_Nine hundred and ninety-nine depend_

_On what the world sees in you,_

_But the Thousandth man will stand your friend_

_With the whole round world agin you._

_'Tis neither promise nor prayer nor show_

_Will settle the finding for 'ee._

_Nine hundred and ninety-nine of 'em go_

_By your looks, or your acts, or your glory._

_But if he finds you and you find him._

_The rest of the world don't matter;_

_For the Thousandth Man will sink or swim_

_With you in any water._

_You can use his purse with no more talk_

_Than he uses yours for his spendings,_

_And laugh and meet in your daily walk_

_As though there had been no lendings._

_Nine hundred and ninety-nine of 'em call_

_For silver and gold in their dealings;_

_But the Thousandth Man h's worth 'em all,_

_Because you can show him your feelings._

_His wrong's your wrong, and his right's your right,_

_In season or out of season._

_Stand up and back it in all men's sight --_

_With that for your only reason!_

_Nine hundred and ninety-nine can't bide_

_The shame or mocking or laughter,_

_But the Thousandth Man will stand by your side_

_To the gallows-foot -- and after!_

**THE END**


End file.
